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IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


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CIHM/ICMH 

Microfiche 

Series. 


CIHM/ICMH 
Collection  de 
microfiches. 


Canadian  Institute  for  Historical  Microreproductions  Institut  Canadian  de  microreproductions  historiques 

1980 


Amtm 


J 


Technical  Notes  /  Notes  techniques 


The  Institute  has  attempted  to  obtain  the  best 
original  copy  available  for  filming.  Physical 
features  of  this  copy  which  may  alter  any  of  the 
images  in  the  reproduction  are  checked  below. 


D 
D 


Coloured  covers/ 
Couvertures  de  couleur 


Coloured  maps/ 

Cartes  g6ographiques  en  couleur 


Pages  discoloured,  stained  or  foxed/ 
Pages  d6color6es,  tachet6es  ou  piqu6es 


Tight  binding  (may  cause  shadows  or 
distortion  along  interior  margin)/ 
Reliure  serr6  (peut  causer  de  I'ombre  ou 
de  la  distortion  le  long  de  la  marge 
intdrieure) 


L'institut  a  microf  ilm6  le  meilleur  exemplaire 
qu'il  lui  a  4tA  possible  de  se  procurer.  Certains 
dAfauts  susceptibles  de  nuire  A  la  quality  de  la 
reproduction  sont  notte  ci-dessous. 


D 
D 


D 


Coloured  pages/ 
Pages  de  couleur 


Coloured  plates/ 
Planches  en  couleur 


Show  through/ 
Transparence 


Pages  damaged/ 
Pages  endommag6es 


Tl 

P< 
oi 
fi 


Tl 

C( 

o 

ai 

T 
fi 
ir 


IV 
ir 
u 
b 
ft 


D 


Additional  comments/ 
Commentaires  suppl6mentaires 


Bibliographic  Notes  /  Notes  bibliographiques 


D 
D 
D 


Only  edition  available/ 
Seule  Edition  disponible 


Bound  with  other  material/ 
Reli6  avec  d'autres  documents 


Cover  title  missing/ 

Le  titre  de  couverture  manque 


n 


Pagination  incorrect/ 
Erreurs  de  pagination 


Pages  missing/ 
Des  pages  manquent 


IVIaps  missing/ 

Des  cartes  g6ographiques  manquent 


D 


Plates  missing/ 

Des  planches  manquent 


D 


Additional  comments/ 
Commentaires  suppl6mentaires 


The  images  appearing  here  are  the  best  quality 
possible  considering  the  condition  and  legibility 
of  the  original  copy  and  in  keeping  with  the 
filming  contract  specifications. 


Les  images  suivantes  ont  4tA  reproduites  avec  le 
plus  grand  soin,  compte  tenu  de  la  condition  et 
de  la  nettetd  de  I'exempiaire  film6.  et  en 
conformity  avec  les  conditions  du  contrat  de 
filmage. 


The  last  recorded  frame  on  each  microfiche  shall 
contain  the  symbol  — ^-  (meaning  CONTINUED"), 
or  the  symbol  V  (meaning  "END"),  whichever 
applies. 


Un  des  symboles  suivants  apparaftra  sur  la  der- 
nlAre  image  de  cheque  microfiche,  selon  le  cas: 
le  symbols  —*-  signifie  "A  SUIVRE",  le  symbols 
V  signifie  "FIN". 


The  original  copy  was  borrowed  from,  and 
filmed  with,  the  Icind  consent  of  the  following 
institution: 

National  Library  of  Canada 


L'exemplaire  filmi  fut  reproduit  grdce  d  la 
g6n6rosit6  de  I'dtabiissenient  prAteur 
suivant : 

Bibliothdque  nationale  du  Canada 


Maps  or  plates  too  large  to  be  entirely  included 
in  one  exposure  are  filmed  beginning  in  the 
upper  l»ft  hand  corner,  left  to  right  and  top  to 
bottom,  as  many  frames  as  required.  The 
following  diagrams  illustrate  the  method: 


Les  cartes  ou  les  planches  trop  grandes  pour  dtre 
reproduites  en  un  seul  cliche  sont  filmies  d 
partir  de  Tangle  supirieure  gauche,  de  gauche  d 
droite  et  de  haut  en  bas,  en  prenant  le  nombre 
d'imsges  n6cessaire.  Le  diagramme  suivant 
illustre  la  mdthode  : 


1 

1 

9 

1 

2 

3 

4 

S 

6 

A   KLONDIKE   PICNIC 


THE  STORY  OF  A  DAY 


BY 


ELEANOR  C.  DONNELLY 

Author  of '' Petronillar  ''Our  Birthday  Bouquet,'*  eU, 


WITH  GENUINE  LETTERS  FROM  TWO  GOLD-SEEKERS 

IN  ALASKA 


New  York,  Cincinnati,  Chicago 

BENZIGER    BROTHERS 

PUBLISHERS  OF   BENZIGER'S  MAGAZINE 


2  4  4  4  3  5 


I     I 


Coprriffbt,  189S,  by  Bbnzicbk  Broth  bbs. 


TO 


THE  DEAR  DEVOTED  MOTHER  OF  LEX  AND  LEE 

THIS  LITTLE  BOOK  IS  DEDICATED, 

BY  THE  AUTHOR. 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


It  is  a  lovely  morning  in  mid-May. 

The  sky  is  as  blue  as  our  Blessed  Lady's  cloaE: 
and  lilce  fleecy  bits  of  her  white  veil  are  the  few 
small  clouds  floating  here  and  there  across  the 
blue. 

It  has  been  a  very  backward  spring — cold,  and 
continuously  wet.  But  the  mercury  has  made  a 
big  jump  in  the  night;  and  the  sun,  now  barely 
up,  shows  a  face  as  red  as  a  scarlet  rose — a  sign, 
the  old  fisher-folk  predict,  of  a  proper  hot  day. 
The  crickets,  whirring  like  fairy  mills  in  the  salt 
grass,  and  the  thin  blue  mists  that  steam  over 
the  meadows  of  Shell  Beach,  ^•nd  out  over 
the  broad,  dimpling  ocean,  somehow  or  other 
tell  the  same  story. 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


Deliciously  cool  is  the  sea-breeze  now,  how- 
ever. Yet  one  of  the  two  women  hurrying 
along  the  quiet  street  towards  the  railway  sta- 
tion wipes  her  face  with  her  handkerchief,  while 
the  other  waves  a  big  palm-leaf  fan. 

Joking  and  laughing  as  they  go,  they  are 
plainly  a  pair  of  house-maids,  off  for  a  day's 
merry-making.  They  have  fifteen  minutes  to 
make  the  morning  express  to  Philadelphia. 

On  the  terrace  of  the  pretty  cottage  near  the 
beach,  which  they  have  just  quitted,  two  young 
ladies  are  poking  about  among  the  flower-beds. 

Both  blondes  of  a  dainty  and  picturesque  pret- 
tiness,  the  elder  wears  a  spring  gown  of  delicate 
lilac,  the  younger  a  blouse  and  skirt  of  blue 
flannel,  embroidered  by  its  wearer's  little  fingers 
with  white  silken  daisies.  Their  eyes  are  as  blue 
and  clear  as  the  waters  of  the  sea,  their  cheeks 
as  pink  as  the  heart  of  the  shells  that  lie  upon  its 
shore.  Having  thrown  aside  their  garden  hats, 
we  see  that  their  glossy  hair  is  like  sunshine, 
and  fine  as  spun  gold. 

They  wear  gloves  for  their  spring  gardening. 
They  have  planted  every  flower  there  with  their 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC.  m 

own  little  hands;  and  the  growing  and  the  blow- 
ing of  the  smallest  bud  is  a  matter  of  grave  im- 
portance to  them. 

"  Here's  a  white  hyacinth  just  out  !  "  cries  the 
girl  in  lilac,  bending  a  face  as  fair  and  sweet  as 
the  newcomer's  over  its  cup. 

"  Here's  another  bud  on  my  jonquil  !  "  retorts 
the  blue  blouse  from  her  corner;  "and  these 
daffodils  and  crocuses  are  sure  to  bloom  before 
night!" 

"  Wouldn't  a  bunch  of  our  violets  be  just  the 
thing,  sister,  for  the  May-Queen's  altar  ?  "  the 
first  speaker  is  about  to  ask,  when  the  cottage- 
door  is  flung  noisily  open,  and  a  boy  of  thirteen 
clears  the  steps  at  a  bound,  shouting: 

"  O  Veva  !  O  Nan  !  Mother  says  we  can 
have  a  picnic  to  the  Klondike  to-day  !  " 

"  The  Klondike  ?  "  echoes  Veva,  looking  up  a 
little  bewildered,  and  putting  back  the  loose 
flakes  of  red-gold  hair  that  fall  about  her  pretty 
cheeks  and  ears. 

She  is  seventeen,  and  something  of  a  dreamer. 

"  Oh  !  I  know  ! "  cries  Nan  (two  years  her 
junior).    "  I  heard  Phil  and  the  Winchester  boys 


t  A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 

talking  about  it  yesterday.  It's  the  little  rocky 
island  out  there  beyond  the  bar,  Veva,"  and  she 
points  seaward. 

"  Of  course  it  is,"  grunts  the  boy,  Philip; 
"  and  a  dandy  little  spot,  you  bet  !  " 

"  But  why  on  earth  do  you  call  it  the  Klon- 
dike, Phil  ?  "  questions  Veva. 

"  Because  it's  full  of  rocks,  don't  you  see  ? 
and  full  of— full  of " 

"  Gold  ?  "  laughs  saucy  Nan. 

"  Bother  ! "  pouts  Philip,  "  what  do  girls 
know  about  it  ?  Anyhow,  we've  got  our  tent 
over  there,  and  our  mines,  and  all  our  traps;  and 
Bert  Winchester  says  if  we  can  get  as  much  gold 
out  of  it  this  year  as  you  and  Veva  have  got  in 
your  hair,  he'll  be  satisfied  !  " 

Nan's  fair  little  face  glows  like  a  carnation, 
and  Veva  begins  to  laugh. 

"  Where  are  you  off  to  now,  Phil  ?  "  she  asks, 
as  the  boy  opens  the  gate,  and  runs  away  whis- 
tling down  the  street. 

"  Going  to  serve  Mass,  and  tell  Father  Ed- 
wards about  the  picnic.  He  said  he  wanted  to 
go  with  us  the  next  time  we  went  to  the  Klon- 


wmm 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


dike,"  shouts  back  her  brother;  and  the  silvery 
sound  of  a  church-bell  ringing  far  off  in  the  vil- 
lage seems  to  punctuate  his  words. 

"  Veva,"  says  Nan,  "  I'm  afraid  we  won't  be 
time  enough  for  Mass." 

"  Girls  ! "  cries  a  voice  inside  the  cottage, 
"  come  help  me  get  ready  the  lunch  !  " 

The  pretty  young  creatures  find  their  mother 
at  the  big  kitchen-table,  spreading  butter  on  a 
lot  of  thin  slices  of  bread. 

A  dish  of  cold  chicken,  little  jars  of  potted 
ham  and  tongue,  pickles,  cheese,  biscuits,  cake, 
pies,  and  a  host  of  other  "  goodies  "  crowd  the 
board. 

Side  by  side,  we  see  that  Veva  is  her  mother's 
radiant  image.  Both  have  tall,  slender  figures 
with  a  certain  noble  grace  of  motion;  but  the 
rich  gold  of  Veva's  hair  has  deepened  in  Mrs. 
Kirke's  case  into  a  dead  brown,  and  the  girl's 
brilliant  complexion  puts  on  a  faded  color  in  her 
mother's  cheeks. 

Nan  is  a  bewitching  fairy,  not  up  to  Veva's 
shoulder.  There  is  something  exquisite  about 
her,  as  if  made  of  finer  clay  than  others.     Her 


10 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


delicate  skin,  her  flossy  hair,  her  blue  eyes  are 
all  several  shades  lighter  than  her  sister's. 

"  Now,  children,"  says  Mrs.  Kirke,  "  make 
ready  the  sandwiches.  It's  going  to  be  dreadfully 
hot,  I  fear.  But  cook  and  Susan  are  off  to  the 
city  for  the  day,  and  your  father  won't  be  here 
till  the  last  train.  Philip  coaxed  so  hard  for  a 
picnic,  I  hadn't  the  heart  to  say  no." 

"  Oh,  well,  momsie  dear,"  laughs  Nan, 
"  we're  going  to  the  Klondike,  anyv/ay,  and  we 
ought  to  be  able  to  keep  cool  there,  if  Cousin 
Lex  and  Cousin  Lee  are  to  be  believed." 

"  By  the  way,  will  Aunt  Grace  come  along  ?  " 
asks  Veva,  spreading  the  potted  ham  and  mus- 
tard between  the  dainty  little  squares  of  bread. 

"  Philip  is  to  stop  and  ask  her  after  he  sees 
Father  Edwards.  That  dear  little  priest  is  as 
much  of  a  boy  as  the  rest  of  them,"  smiles  the 
mother. 

"  I  remember  reading  once,"  says  Veva,  with 
a  grave  look  in  her  lovely,  dark-blue  eyes,  "  that 
men  who  are  good  and  pure  are  always  boys." 

"  Where  do  you  preach  next  Sunday,  sissie  ?  " 
cries  lively  Nannie,  rummaging  in  a  near-by  cup- 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


II 


board.  "  Here  are  the  lunch-bags  and  boxes  " 
— tumbling  them  out  on  the  table.  "  If  Phil 
wants  to  be  a  real  Klondiker  to-day,  he  must  do 
all  the  *  packing  '  himself  !  " 

"  So  he  will,  Miss  Nan,  and  no  thanks  to 
you  ! "  shouts  a  voice  at  her  elbow  that  nearly 
costs  the  picnic  the  loss  of  a  superb  apple-pie; 
and  there  is  Philip  back  again  from  his  errands, 
red   as   a   peony,    and    grinning   from   ear   to 


ear. 


Speak  of  the  angels,"  adds  he,  "  and  you'll 
hear  the  flapping  of  their  wings.  Father  Ed- 
wards will  go,  and  be  glad,  mother." 

"  Good,  my  son,"  returns  Mrs.  Kirke  with  a 
tender  look  at  her  only  boy — her  one  ugly  duck- 
ling, who  is  cross-eyed  as  well  as  red-haired. 
"  And  your  Aunt  Grace  ?  " 

"  Has  the  headache,  but  will  try  to  join  us  at 
lunch.  Say,  Veva,"  concludes  Philip,  munching 
a  gingersnap,  "  put  in  plenty  of  stuff.  The 
Winchester  boys  are  coming,  too." 

"  Mercy  on  us  !  "  cries  Nan,  "  all  that  hungry 
horde  ?  It's  well,  sir,  you  are  to  do  the  '  pack- 
ing' yourself.      Go  on  inviting  people  at  this 


12 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


s' 

i. 


rate,  and  it  will  take  a  camel  to  carry  the 
lunch  ! " 

"Or  a  jackass,"  laughs  Philip;  "and  here" 
(he  makes  a  low  bow  with  his  hand  on  his 
breast) — "  here  is  one  at  your  service,  fair 
stingy-bones  ! " 

"  How  did  you  know  him,  my  little  dears  ? 
By  his  beautiful  voice  and  his  nice  long  ears.  " 

sings  Nan  as  she  dances  out  of  Philip's  reach, 
and  helps  Veva  and  her  mother  fill  the  enor- 
mous baskets. 

"  Aunt  Grace  is  worrying  about  I^ex  and 
Lee,"  murmurs  Veva  aside  to  Nan.  "  Oh,  that 
dreadful  Alaska  !  Lex's  last  letter  in  January 
told  her  they  were  on  the  trail  again,  going 
straight  to  the  gold-fields.  She  hasn't  had  a 
line  since." 

"Horrible!"  whispers  Nan;  "she  doesn't 
know  whether  they  are  alive  or  dead  I  " 

Philip  puts  his  head  between  his  sisters'. 

"  Talking  secrets  about  Aunt  Grace,  eh  ?  I 
told  her  to  bring  all  the  boys'  Alaska  letters 
when  she  comes  this  afternoon.  The  Winches- 
ter fellows  are  dying  to  hear  li.em.' 


f> 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


m 


» 


"  What  about  the  Winchester  girls,  Phil  ? 
asks  Veva,  as  she  fastens  the  last  shawl-strap. 
"  Are  they  coming,  too  ?  " 

"  Jeannie  and  Olive  said  they  would  meet  us 
on  the  car,"  replies  Phil  rather  sheepishly:  "  and 
maybe  their  cousin.  Miss  Elliott — " 

*'  Well,  for  pity's  sake  !  "  shrieks  Nan;  "  is  it 
a  private  picnic,  or  is  it  the  Charge  of  the  Light 
Brigade  f  " 

**Have  we  enough  to  feed  the  Six  Hun- 
dred ?  "  queries  Mrs.  Kirke. 

And,  as  the  girls  fly  off  to  fetch  their  hats, 
Philip  strikes  an  attitude,  and  begins  to  rant: 

••  When  can  their  glory  fade  ? 
O  the  wild  charge  they  made ! 

All  the  world  wonder'd. 
Honor  the  charge  they  made ! 
Honor  the  Light  Brigade — 
Noble  six  hundred  I " 


14 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


11. 


All  hands  are  ready  to  board  the  little  motor- 
car when  it  reaches  the  corner  of  the  Kirke 
grounds. 

It  is  an  open  summer  car  that  runs  hourly 
from  the  Inlet  to  Sand  Pc^^^,  eight  miles  away. 

There  are  not  many  people  aboard.  Philip 
helps  in  his  mother  and — the  lunch. 

A  merry,  girlish  voice  cries:  "  Here  we  are  !  ** 
and  Veva  and  Nan,  climbing  to  a  seat,  are 
welcomed  by  two  dark,  pleasant-faced  girls — 
one  in  scarlet  organdie,  the  other  in  yellow — 
their  wide  straw  hats  trimmed  with  seaweeds. 

These  are  Jeannie  and  Olive  Winchester. 
Their  next  neighbor  is  an  older  girl — a  simply- 
dressed  girl  with  a  sensible  and  what  Philip 
calls  an  awfully  jolly  face. 

Jeannie  introduces  her  as  "  our  cousin  Mar- 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


H 


garet  Elliott  from  Philadelphia  " ;  and  she  and 
Nan  and  Olive  are  soon  chattering  gayly  to- 
gether, to  Phil's  intense  relief.  The  matter  of 
the  lunch  has  weighed  heavily  on  his  mind;  but 
he  grins  as  he  sees  Veva  nestle  close  to  Jeannie 
Winchester,  her  own  especial  chum. 

Both  are  thoughtful  girls — much  given  to 
writing  poetry  on  the  sly,  and  hiding  it  from 
sight,  as  a  chicken  does  her  eggs. 

The  car-track  runs  alongside  the  ocean-front, 
and  so  close  that  all  can  see  the  blue  waves 
breaking  on  the  beach.  The  swift  motion 
creates  a  delightful  breeze. 

"  *  What  are  the  wild  waves  saying  ?  '  "  asks 
Miss  Elliott  in  the  form  of  a  conundrum. 

"  Come,  take  a  bath  !  "  cries  Philip. 

"  Come,  take  a  sail  !  "  laughs  Nan. 

"  Come,  go  to  Europe  ! "  murmurs  Veva  to 
Jeannie,  who  squeezes  her  arm  with  a  wistful 
sigh.  The  friends  cherish  delicious  dreams  of 
an  ocean  voyage  some  day,  and  foreign  travel. 

"  Wrong,  all  of  you  ! "  says  Miss  Elliott. 
"  What  else  are  *  the  wild  waves  saying/  day  and 
night,  but — Let  us  {s)pray  ! " 


i6 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


tt 


lilH 


Water  can't  pray  ! "  growls  Phil,  not  seeing 
the  point. 

"  Water  can  pray,  my  son,"  corrects  his 
mother.  "  How  many  of  you  remember  Fttiher 
Edwards*  sermon  last  month  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  yes,"  says  Veva  with  a  pretty  gravity 
that  becomes  her  sweet  face.  "  You  mean  what 
he  said  on  the  Canticle  of  the  Three  Children 
in  the  Fiery  Furnace  ?  " 

And  then  Jeannie  and  Olive  begin  to  chant 
in  concert  (it  was  once  an  exercise  at  their  con- 
vent commencement) :  "  *  Bless  the  Lord,  ye 
fountains;  seas  and  rivers,  bless  the  Lord; 
whales  and  all  that  move  in  the  waters,  bless  the 
Lord  !  * " 

"  The  Psalmist  also  says,"  continues  Mrs. 
Kirke:  " '  All  ye  waters  that  are  above  the 
heavens,  bless  the  Lord.  .  .  .  Showers  and  dew, 
bless  the  Lord.  .  .  .  Dews  and  hoar  frost,  bless 
the  Lord.  .  .  .  Ice  and  snow,  bless  the  Lord  ! ' " 

"  So  you  see.  Master  Bubby,"  cries  Nan, 
"  that  water  can  make  its  devotions  as  well  as 
the  rest  of  creation.  Liquid  or  solid,  Philip,  my 
boy.   It   can  always   say  with  truth:    *  Let  us 


tiiit 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC 
fs-s.s-s)pray  I ' "    And  drawing  a  tiny  atomizer 
from  her  bag,  she  sends  a  puff  of  violet-water 
agamst  her  brother's  freckled  cheelc. 
"  ^^^  "'  ^"^ther  !  "  says  he  good-humoredly. 
"  Well,  then,  when  did  the  men  of  Shell  Beach 
work  a  miracle  ?  " 

"  When  they  sold  a  lot  ! "  snaps  Phil  spite- 
luHy. 

It  is  an  open  secret  that  the  Shell  Beachers 
are  just  now  languishing  for  a  "  boom." 

"You  mean  boy!  Have  you  nothing  easier. 
Nannie  darling  ?  "  pleads  Olive  with  symptoms 
of  mock-exhaustion. 

^^  Give  it  up  !  »  ciy  Veva  and  Jeannie. 
"  When  they  made  a  board-walk  !  "  exclaims 
triumphant  Nan. 

In  revenge,  "  Why  is  Nan  Hke  a  caterpillar  ?  " 
proposes  Miss  Elliott. 

"  Because  she  makes  the  butter  ily  !  "  comes 
from  Nan  herself.  "  Please,  somebody,  give  us 
a  harder  one  I  " 

"  Why  is  Nan  like  an  oyster  ?  "  asks  Phil,  one 
eye  on  his  victim,  and  the  other  on  the  lunch- 
basket. 


x8 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


"  Not  because  she  is  dumb  ?  "  suggests  Olive 
slyly. 

"  Nor  because  she  is  fond  of  her  bed  ?  "  asks 
Mrs.  Kirke  with  a  loving  glance  at  her  golden- 
haired  Titania. 

"  Nit,"  says  Phil,  "  but  because  she  can't  climb 
a  tree  !  " 

This  reaching  the  height  of  the  silly  and 
ridiculous,  the  girls  turn  their  backs  on  Master 
Kirke,  and  no  one  notices  his  next  query :  "  Did 
you  ever  see  a  horse  Hy  ?  " 

"  Sand  Peep  ! "  calls  the  conductor;  and  the 
car  stops  at  the  small  station. 

The  Winchester  boys  in  their  outing  flannels 
are  drawn  up  in  a  line  on  the  platform.  They 
salute  the  ladies,  soldier-fashion.  They  have 
come  out  on  their  wheels  with  Father  Ed- 
wards— Herbert,  Allen,  Jack  and  Fred — all 
fine,  manly  lads,  ranging  from  fourteen  to 
eight. 

The  priest  is  young,  almost  boyish-looking, 
but  very  attractive.  His  face  is  refined  and  in- 
telligent, and  his  pleasant  manners  make  him 
a  favorite  with  all.    He  is  a  shining  light  in  the 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


19 


village  of  Shell  Beach,  because  of  his  simple  de- 
votion to  duty. 

In  sickness  and  trouble  he  visits  Protestants 
and  Catholics  alike;  and  one  afternoon  each 
week  he  takes  his  tea  with  the  Life-Guard  at 
their  post  on  the  beach,  leaving  behind  him 
many  a  sweet,  strong  word  of  wisdom  for  rough 
hearts  to  ponder  over  in  the  stormy  night- 
watches  of  the  coast. 

Father  Edwards  combines,  indeed,  the  inno- 
cence of  the  dove  with  the  cunning  of  the 
serpent.  His  genial  sympathy  wins  the  confi- 
dence of  the  children.  The  boys  are  perfectly 
at  home  with  him  on  all  occasions. 

Allen  Winchester,  having  seen  that  the  com- 
pany's "  bikes  "  are  safely  stored  in  a  corner  of 
the  little  station,  now  slides  a  square,  flat  book 
from  under  the  priest's  arm,  asking:  "  What  is 
this.  Father  ?  " 

"  A  Klondike  scrap-book,"  is  the  reply.  "  My 
contribution  to  the  picnic." 

"  O  Father  I  "  cries  Jack,  "  are  you  really  go- 
ing to  read  us  some  more  nice  bits  about 
Alaska  ?  " 


I 


20 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


ff 


"  If  I  get  the  chance.  But  what  is  it,  Philip  ? 
as  Master  Kirke  draws  near  with  rather  a  down- 
cast look. 

"  Nothing,  sir;  only  Veva's  brought  her 
scrap-book,  too,  and  how's  a  fellow  to  have  any 
fun  fishing  or  crabbing  if  it's  just  going  to  be 
dry  reading  out  of  books  ?  " 

"  It  won't  be  dry,  Phil,"  whispers  Herbert. 
"  It's  the  best  kind  of  sport  to  hear  about  that 
queer,  wild  place  where  the  gold-mines  are." 

"  Father  Edwards  has  got  the  jolliest  lot  of 
clippings  you  ever  saw,"  adds  Jack.  "  But  here's 
the  boat,  boys,  and  old  Captain  Saltee  ready  to 
take  us  oflf !  " 

"  All  aboard,  ladies  and  gentlemen ! "  cries  the 
Captain,  a  sunburned  old  sailor,  who.  looks  like 
a  picture  in  his  rough  flannel  suit,  with  his  big 
straw  hat  and  his  broad  bare  feet.  "  In  with 
your  traps,  young  men,  and  take  care  of  the 
ladies,  God  bless  'em  I  " 


w4 


ilii 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC, 


21 


III. 

It  is  a  merry  party  crowding  into  the  Cap- 
tain's  sail-boat,  which  plies  every  hour  (through 
the  summer  months)  between  Sand  Peep  and 
the  Klondike.     Certainly,  to-day, 

••  Youth  is  at  the  prow  and  pleasure  at  the  helm." 

"  Make  room  for  the  minstrels  !  "  shouts  Her- 
bert  Winchester,  and  Olive  with  her  mandolin 
and  Jack  with  his  mouth-organ  are  given  seats 
of  honor  in  the  boat. 

"Room  for  the  commissary  -  general  ?  " 
screams  Philip,  as  he  struggles  on  board,  lug- 
ging the  great  basket  of  lunch  and  two  or  three 
boxes  of  candy. 

"  Strongest  man  in  the  world,  eh,  Kirke  ?  " 
joke  the  boys.  "  Is  it  Sandow  this  time,  or  Phil 
McCooI,  the  Irish  giant  ?  " 

"  It's  Phil  McCrosseye,  the  Jersey  kid  ! "  re- 


T 


22 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


i 


torts  Kirke,  who  is  in  high  spirits,  as  he  finds  a 
dry  corner  for  his  stores,  and  relieves  the  strain 
of  "  packing  "  by  pulling  Nan's  curls  and  trip- 
ping up  little  Fred. 

Was  there  ever  such  a  delicious  sail  ? 

It  is  now  close  to  nine  o'clock.  The  sea  is 
like  a  mill-pond,  and  the  south  wind  in  their 
favor. 

Old  Saltee  has  such  an  easy  time  of  it  with  the 
boat  that  he  falls  to  telling  funny  coast-yarns, 
and  queer  stories  of  by-gone  sails  and  sailors. 

Oh,  to  think  of  the  tremendous  storms  that  he 
has  weathered,  and  the  gigantic  fish  that  he  has 
caught  !  There  is  even  a  thrilling  ghost-story 
or  two,  which  Father  Edwards  interrupts  with  a 
laughable  account  of  his  visit  to  the  oyster-beds 
at  Maurice  Cove. 

Miss  Elliott  then  enchants  them  all  with  her 
experience  of  camp-life  on  a  Mexican  rancho. 

The  boys  lay  their  heads  together  for  a  few 
minutes,  plainly  plotting  mischief.  There  is 
some  whispering,  followed  by  some  tittering 
and  chuckling;  then  Philip  straightens  out  his 
face,  to  ask  demurely: 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


«3 


"  Captain  Saltee,  have  you  ever  been  sick  at 
sea  ?  " 

"  Never  ! "  cries  old  Saltee  with  seamanly 
pride. 

"  What,  never  ? "  shout  all  the  boys  in  a 
breath. 

Saltee  has  never  heard  of  Pinafore.  He  tum- 
bles innocently  into  the  trap  set  for  him  by  the 
madcaps. 

"Well — hardly  ever!"  h'^  ^-.vns  up;  and 
then  he  wonders  where  the  fun  is,  and  whv 
everybody  laughs — and  why  Philip  rolls  over, 
holding  his  sides,  and  even  kicking  his  heels  in 
a  perfect  gale  of  merriment. 

Olive,  pitying  poor  old  Saltee's  embarrass- 
ment, now  tunes  her  mandolin,  and  Jack  gives  a 
flourish  on  his  organ,  and  boys  and  girls  both 

burst  forth  in  an  original  chorus  by  Veva: 

"  The  mermaids  woo  us  with  arms  that  wave 
Like  foam  on  the  billows  free : 
The  siren  chants,  in  her  cool  green  cave, 

The  song  of  the  sunny  sea. 
Each  breeze  that  sweeps  o'er  the  sparkling  main 

Is  full  of  a  healing  balm  ; 
The  spray  it  brings  is  a  blessdd  rain, 
Tho'  the  sky  be  blue  and  calm. 

Yo  ho,  my  lads,  yo  ho  I 


24 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


I 


"Spurning  the  sands  like  a  granite  floor. 
To  plunge  in  the  breakers  white- 
Laugh,  happy  hearts,  till  the  surges'  roar 

Trembles  with  glad  delight ! 
Now  bending  low  to  the  curling  wave. 

Now  scatt'ring  far  and  wide 

Its  glitt'ring  drops,  we  gayly  lave 

Our  prow  in  the  cooling  tide. 

Yo  ho,  my  lads,  yo  ho ! 

"  Golden-bright  as  the  best  champagne, 
This  fair,  life-giving  sea  ! 
The  old  Greeks'  cure  for  a  heart  in  pain 

Was  a  bath  in  its  waters  free. 
Dreamed  tney  ..hen  of  this  strand  of  strands 

Whose  breath  one's  being  thrills  ? 
An  ocean  bath  on  Shell  Beach  sands 
Hath  cure  for  all  our  ills ! 

Yo  ho,  my  lads,  yo  ho !  " 

'*  Heaven  bless  their  happy  hearts  ! "  mur- 
murs Mrs.  Kirke  to  Father  Edwards;  but  before 
he  can  reply  Phil  shouts  victoriously:  "  Land 
ahoy  '  "  and  rocky  little  Klondike  pops  up  just 
ahead  of  the  boat  which,  thanks  to  wise  old 
Saltee's  steering,  swings  safely  round  to  the 
landing-steps. 

There  is  a  great  deal  of  laughter  and  scream- 
ing among  the  girls  as  they  scramble  over  the 
thwarts  to  the  staircase,  trying  to  keep  their  neat 
skirts  and  pretty  little  boots  from  wet  or  soil. 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


25 


The  boys  are  gallant  young  gentlemen,  how- 
ever, and  do  their  part  with  a  pleasant  grace  and 
good  will. 

"  Such  well-behaved  lads  are  a  real  comfort," 
says  Miss  Elliott,  as  Herbert  Winchester  lands 
her  safe  and  sound  on  the  little  wooden  platform 
set  in  the  rocks. 

"  There  never  were  nicer  boys  than  our  boys 
of  Shell  Beach  ! "  boasts  Father  Edwards  with 
pardonable  pride. 

"  How  could  they  be  anything  else  ?  "  whis- 
pers Mrs.  Kirke  to  Margaret.  "  They  are  with 
him  half  their  time.  He  is  too  modest  to  sus- 
pect that  they  all  take  him  for  their  model." 

"  Small  wonder  !  "  whispers  back  Miss  Elliott. 
"  He  is  simple  and  direct  as  a  little  child,  yet  his 
manners  are  charming.  And  this — "  she  cries, 
standing  still  and  looking  around  her  curi- 
ously— "  this  is  really  the  Klondike  of  our 
dreams  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  replies  Herbert  Winchester,  making  a 
low  bow  to  the  assembled  company.  "  Ladies 
and  gentlemen,  you  are  now  supposed  to  tread 
the  soil  of  that  famous  spot 


^ 


I 


il:ll 


26  A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 

" '  Where  the  gentle  polar  bear 
Nips  the  trav'ller  unaware ; 
And  where,  by  day,  they  hunt  the  ermine, 
But,  by  night,  another  vermin ! '  " 

"  For  shame,  Bert  !  "  protest  the  girls.  And, 
to  cover  Bert's  blushes,  "  Here,"  cries  Allen, 
running  up  to  a  large  tent  on  a  rocky  terrace, 
with  the  Stars  and  Stripes  floating  above  it, 
"  here  is  Gold  Dust  Camp  in  the  Skaguay 
Trail  ! " 

"  And  over  there,"  adds  Jack,  "  are  the  Yukon 
River  and  Circle  City  and  Dawson  City." 

"  And  down  here  beyond  the  camp,"  chirps 
Philip,  pointing  out  several  little  round  pools 
in  a  bit  of  salt  marsh,  "are  Lake  Tagish  and 
Lake  Bennett  and  Lake  Linderman,  clear  out 
to  the  Stewart  River,  where  Cousins  Lee  and 
Lex  are  going  to  strike  it  rich  soon,  and  make 
us  all  millionaires." 

There  is  a  general  laugh  which  almost  drowns 
Herbert's  question: 

"  Now,  boys,  what  are  we  going  to  fly  at 
first  ?  " 

"  Let's  mine  !  "  shouts  one. 

"  Fish  !  "  cries  another. 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


m 


"  Crab  !  "  roars  a  third. 

"  Take  a  bath  !  "  suggests  a  fourth. 

"We  can't  mine  to-day,"  grumbles  Philip. 
"  Thafs  out  of  the  question  with  all  these  girls 
along,  poking  their  parasols  into  our  pay-dirt  !  " 

**  Thank  you,  sir,"  says  Nan  with  airy  dignity. 
"This  hot  sun's  beginning  to  blaze  down  on 
us,  and  we'll  have  better  use  for  our  parasols 
than  poking  their  points  into  your  old  make- 
believe  mines.  Jack  and  Fred  are  going  to  take 
us  fishing— aren't  they,  Olive  ?  " 

"Yes;  and  crabbing,  too  !"  says  Olive,  set- 
ting her  mandolin  in  a  safe  corner  of  the  tent. 


28 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC, 


IV. 


It  is  really  a  very  cosey  camp. 

The  Winchester  boys  have  had  plenty  of 
means  to  fit  it  out,  and  the  Kirke  homestead  has 
given  it  many  a  treasure.  There  are  rugs  on 
the  ground;  a  camp-table,  lots  of  camp-chairs 
and  stools,  a  couple  of  cots,  a  well-filled  book- 
shelf (where  Father  Finn  and  Dr.  Egan  are 
largely  in  evidence);  while  the  corners  are 
crowded  with  balls  and  bats,  crab-nets  and  fish- 
ing-poles, and  a  violin  and  banjo  in  their  several 
cases. 

Even  the  little  Klondike  stove  for  chilly  days 
has  not  been  omitted;  and  on  the  canvas  wall 
hangs  a  parian  statue  of  the  Blessed  Virgin  with 
a  holy-water  shell  at  her  feet. 

This,  the  sweet  guardian  of  the  camp,  was 
picked  up  on  the  rocks  by  Captain  Saltee  last 


1 


'S 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


29 


winter  and  given  to  Father  Edwards.  It  is  all 
that  remains  of  a  vessel  from  France  laden  with 
statuary,  that  went  to  pieces  thirty  years  ago  on 
the  treacherous  shores  of  Sand  Peep. 

"  Jack,  Fred  !  "  calls  Father  Edwards.  "  Some 
seats  here  for  the  ladies  ! "  And  the  boys 
quickly  carry  out  the  camp-chairs  to  the  shady 
side  of  the  tent. 

At  the  same  moment  Philip  appears  with  the 
crab-nets  and  fishing-rods. 

Nan,  catching  up  a  wicker  creel,  cries:  "Come 
along,  Olive  !  Come  along,  Jack,  Fred  and 
Phil  !  Let's  try  our  luck  over  there  on  the 
Yukon  River  ! " 

"  Won't  the  rest  of  you  join  us  ?  "  asks  Jack 
politely.     "  We  have  plenty  of  nets  and  lines." 

"  I  think  Jeannie  and  I  had  better  stay  to  help 
with  the  lunch,"  replies  Veva,  always  consider- 
ate for  her  mother. 

"  How  about  Herbert  and  Allen  ?  "  questions 
Father  Edwards,  as  those  two  young  gentlemen 
throw  themselves  down  on  the  sand  at  Mrs. 
Kirke's  feet,  using  their  straw  hats  as  fans. 

"  Oh,  we  are  to  be  the  hewers  of  wood  and 


T,      I  i 
'  I  1 


30 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


the  drawers  of  water  for  the  company  I "  reply 
Bert  and  Al. 

Miss  Elliott  and  Mrs.  Kirke  both  protesting 
that  it  is  getting  too  warm  for  dragging  a  line 
along  a  hot  t?ank,  the  fisher  lads  and  lassies  go 
ofif  to  enjoy  their  sport,  leaving  the  rest  with 
Father  Edwards  to  the  cool  comfort  of  a  chat  in 
the  open. 

"The  chaplain  of  St.  Aloysius-in-the-Moun- 
tains  is  with  me  just  now,"  says  the  priest;  "  he 
asked  to  be  left  in  charge  of  things  at  home  to- 
day. He  tells  me  that  two  of  our  Shell  Beach 
girls  won  the  medals  at  the  convent  for  the 
prize-poems.  I  didn't  need  to  ask  him  if  the 
fortunate  ones  were  Veva  and  Jeannie.  Their 
happy  faces  showed  it  when  they  came  home  for 
the  holidays." 

Both  girls  blush,  and  cast  down  their  eyes 
with  becoming  modesty. 

"  What  was  the  theme,  Veva  ?  " 

"  It  had  to  be  something  local,  Father,  and 
something  drawn  from  nature.  Jeannie  chose 
the  hill  where  the  convent  girls  often  go  on 
pleasant  afternoons  to  see  the  sun  set.' 


>» 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


'UF^ 


"  I  happen  to  have  a  copy  of  the  lines  here," 
says  Miss  Elliott,  drawing  a  paper  from  her  bag. 
"  Cousin  Jeannie  gave  it  to  me  this  morning.  I 
asked  her  for  it.  It  well  deserved  the  silver 
medal,  /  think." 

"  Please  read  it,"  says  Mrs.  Kirke;  "  none  of 
«s  has  heard  it  yet,  except  Veva." 

"  I  will  read  it,"  retorts  Margaret,  avoiding 
Jeannie's  pleading  eyes,  "  on  condition  that  you, 
in  your  turn,  will  read  us  Veva's  verses.  They 
are  in  the  scrap-book  I  saw  her  slip  into  your 
bag  on  the  boat." 

Capital  !  "  shouts  Allen. 
A  fair  bargain!"  cries  Herbert;    and,  in 
spite  of  the  blushing  protests  of  the  two  young 
poets,  Miss  Elliott  rises  to  read  with  infinite 
taste: 


(( 


n 


The  Sunset  Hill, 

The  Sunset  Hill  !  the  Sunset  Hill ! 

How  many  joys  are  wound 
Like  shining  coils  about  my  heart 

With  that  familiar  sound  ! 

The  pleasant  steep,  the  balmy  air, 

The  softened  light  of  eve- 
Each  happy  voice  and  beaming  eye 
Such  dreamy  mem'ries  leave, 


;  'I'll  I  i 


3a  A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 

Of  when  we  scaled  the  grassy  slope 

With  many  a  merry  joke  ; 
Our  laughter,  ringing  up  the  hill, 

The  sleeping  echoes  woke. 

Oh,  lighter  hearts  there  could  not  be, 

Nor  lighter  steps,  I  ween, 
Than  throbbed  upon  that  pleasant  height 

Or  trod  its  dewy  green  ! 

But  jest  and  laughter  both  were  hushed 

When,  on  the  sunny  hill, 
We  took  our  stand,  and  saw  the  land 

Grow  shadowy  and  still — 

Grow  shadowy  and  still,  with  awe, 

As  sank  the  glowing  sun. 
And  all  the  myriad  floating  clouds 

Turned  golden,  one  by  one. 

The  dreamy  sounds  of  insect  life 
Fell  thro'  the  twilight  gray ; 

The  tinkling  bells  of  lowing  kine 
That  pawed  their  homeward  way, 

Came  softly  to  the  list'ning  ear 

Upon  the  grassy  steep. 
As  pleasant,  soothing  visions  come 

To  weary  souls  in  sleep. 

Across  the  landscape  wide  and  still, 
In  mingled  light  and  shade. 

E'en  to  the  mountains  blue  and  dim, 
Where  amber  vapors  played, 

Our  eyes  looked  out  in  joy  unspeeched. 
That  near  o'erflowed  its  fount ; 

A  mist  came  o'er  them  as  we  gazed. 
That  was  not  on  the  mount ; 


Tit 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC.  33 

The  mist  of  grateful,  happy  tears 
Which  childhood's  vision  knows, 

When,  on  a  mother's  tender  breast, 
It  breathes  and  calms  its  woes. 

So,  Mother  Nature,  on  thy  breast 

We  dried  our  starting  tears. 
And  lo !  the  bliss  of  that  brief  rest 

Must  calm  the  woes  of  years. 

Dear  days  of  joy  that  then  went  down 

O  Sun  that  softly  set ! 
Ye  were  alike :  ye  came,  ye  went. 
Thanks  to  the  God  whose  mercy  sent  \ 

Your  glory  haunts  me  yet. 

A  hearty  clapping  of  hands  greets  the  simple 
verses,  imperfect  as  they  are;  but  under  cover 
of  the  mild  excitement,  Miss  Veva  is  detected 
trying  to  steal  away  with  her  mother's  bag. 

Herbert  and  Allen  promptly  pounce  upon  the 
fair  criminal,  and  after  a  gentle  little  scuffle 
rescue  the  bag  and  book  from  her  slender  grasp. 

The  poor  young  Sappho  of  Shell  Beach  pouts 
her  pretty  lips,  and  sits  rubbing  her  rosy  fingers 
ruefully  as  Mrs.  Kirke  puts  on  her  glasses  and 
proclaims  the  title  of  the  gold-medal  poem: 

TA*  Legend  of  Indian  Spring. 

There  is  a  spot  in  the  shadowy  woods, 

A  beautiful,  breezy  spot 
Wl^ere  the  worn  heart  revels  in  solitude, 
-lie  canker  enters  not. 


34 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 

The  peace  and  the  smile  of  God  are  there 

When  the  waves  of  sunlight  flow 
Thro'  the  parted  boughs  of  the  agdd  trees 

To  break  on  the  bank  below. 

And  a  silver  spring  that  an  angel's  hand 
Hath  led  from  some  ruder  height. 

Comes  stealing  down  'mid  the  fallen  leaves 
To  dance  in  the  golden  light. 

Ages  agone,  in  this  forest  home. 

The  red  men  roamed  and  ruled  ; 
And  the  callow  youth  of  a  mighty  tribe 

To  fieH  and  flood  were  schooled. 

Lo !  when  the  Indian  race  had  waned. 
And  the  woods  had  ceased  to  ring 

With  the  awful  notes  of  the  war-whoop  Wild— 
(The  voice  of  a  demon  thing  !), 

The  pallid  shade  of  the  fallen  race 

(As  ancient  legends  sing), 
Toiled  wearily  down  to  this  mystic  place 

And  died  at  the  Indian  Spring. 

Oft,  as  I  sit  on  the  mossy  bank. 

With  the  friends  I  love  around. 
The  ancient  legend  wins  my  soul, 

And  I  hear  a  mournful  sound — 

The  hollow  groan  of  that  tawny  wraith 

Who  saw  his  tribe  decay, 
And  their  treasured  wealth  of  soil  and  stream 

Pass  dreamily  away. 

And  when  these  hours  of  joy  are  past, 

Perchance  forever  o'er. 
And  the  sparkling  drops  of  the  dancing  ipring 

Shall  visit  my  sight  no  mure, 


^ 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 

Still  In  my  heart  will  a  spring  arise 

And  wind  its  gentle  way 
liid  the  whisp'ring  ferns  of  a  memory  fond 

Whose  leaves  will  ne'er  decay  ! 

For  the  friendships  formed  at  the  Indian  Spring 

In  the  forest  brown  and  hoar, 
Shall  live  at  the  sparkling  fount  of  thought 

Till  Time  shall  be  no  more  I 


35 


I 


'  I 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


m 


V. 


The  applause  that  follows  the  poem  is  quite 
rapturous.  All  are  amazed  at  the  grace  and 
beauty  of  the  lines. 

To  hide  her  delighted  confusion  (for  where  is 
the  authoress  that  is  not  moved  by  a  general 
and  cordial  approval  of  her  work  ?)  Veva 
hastens  to  beg  the  young  priest  :  "  Please, 
Father,  won't  you  give  us  something  from 
your  Klondike  scrap-book  ?  Every  one  likes  to 
hear  of  that  new,  strange  country." 

Father  Edwards  gladly  opens  his  well-filled 
book,  and  turns  a  number  of  pages  with  his 
slim,  scholarly  hand. 

"  Here,"  says  he,  at  last,  "  is  a  romantic  bit 
of  word-painting  which  will  please  our  house- 
hold poets " — and  he  smiles  at  Veva  and 
Jeannie.  "  I  clipped  it  from  a  copy  of  the  Cen- 
tury.   It  comes  out  of  an  article  called  *The 


im 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


17 


Alaska  Trip,'  by  John  Muir,  the  naturalist.    Mr, 
Muir  says: 

" '  To  the  lover  of  wildness  Alaska  offers  a 
glorious  field  for  either  work  or  rest:  landscape 
beauty  in  a  thousand  forms,  things  great  and 
small,  novel  and  familiar,  as  wild  and  pure  as 
Paradise.  Wander  where  you  may,  wildness 
ever  fresh  and  ever  beautiful  meets  you  in  end- 
less variety;  ice-laden  mountains,  hundreds  of 
miles  of  them,  peaked  and  pinnacled  and 
crowded  together  like  trees  in  groves,  and  so 
high  and  so  divinely  clad  in  clouds  and  air  that 
they  seem  to  belong  more  to  heaven  than  to 
earth;  inland  plains  grassy  and  flowery,  dotted 
with  groves,  and  extending  like  seas  all  around 
to  the  rim  of  the  sky;  lakes  and  streams  shining 
and  singing,  outspread  in  sheets  of  mazy  em- 
broidery, in  untraceable,  measureless  abun- 
dance, brightening  every  landscape,  and  keep- 
ing the  ground  fresh  and  fruitful  forever;  forests 
of  evergreens  growing  close  together  like 
leaves  of  grass,  girdling  a  thousand  islands  and 
mountains  in  glorious  array;  mountains  that  are 
monuments  of  the  work  of  ice;    mountains. 


m 


38 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


i''' 


monuments  of  volcanic  fires;  gardens  filled 
with  the  fairest  flowers,  giving  their  fragrance 
to  every  wandering  wind;  and  far  to  the  north, 
thousands  of  miles  of  ocean  ice,  now  wrapped  in 
fog,  now  glowing  in  sunshine,  through  nightless 
days,  and  again  shining  in  wintry  splendor  be- 
neath the  beams  of  the  aurora — sea,  land  and 
sky  one  mass  of  white  radiance,  like  a  star. 
Storms,  too,  are  here,  as  wild  and  sublime  in  size 
and  scenery  as  the  landscapes  beneath  them,  dis- 
playing the  glorious  pomp  of  clouds  on  the 
march  over  mountain  and  plain,  the  flight  of  the 
snow  when  all  the  sky  is  in  bloom,  trailing  rain- 
floods,  and  the  booming  plnUj^e  of  avalanches 
and  icebergs  and  rivers  in  their  rocky  glens, 
while  multitudes  of  wild  animals  and  wild  peo- 
ple, clad  in  feathers  and  furs,  biting,  loving,  get- 
ting a  living,  make  all  the  wildness  wilder.*  " 

"  What  exquisite  language  ! "  exclaims  Miss 
Elliott. 

"  And  yet,"  the  priest  returns,  "  I  find  more 
to  admire  in  an  article  called  *  Life  on  the  Alaska 
Mission,'  which  Father  Barnum,  the  Jesuit,  pub- 
lished in  the  Sacred  Heart  Messenger  two  years 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


39 


before  the  Klondike  became  such  a  universal 
fad." 

"  Were  the  Jesuits  really  in  Alaska,  sir,  two 
whole  years  ago  ?  "  question  Herbert  and  Allen 
with  lively  interest. 

"  *  Two  whole  years  ago  ?  *  "  echoes  Father 
Edwards  with  fine  scorn.  "  Why,  Father  Pas- 
cal Tosi  (who  died  last  January — Lord  rest 
him  !)  and  Father  Aloysius  Robaut  went  there 
with  Archbishop  Seghers  to  found  a  mission  in 
1886  !  It  was  souls — not  gold — that  brought 
the  Jesuits  to  the  Yukon." 

"  If  I  remember  rightly,"  says  Mrs.  Kirke, 
"  Father  Barnum  drew  a  picture  of  Alaska 
wholly  different  from  that  of  Mr.  Muir.  Didn't 
he  write  that  all  that  there  presents  itself  to  the 
eye  is  *  a  cold  gray  sea,  with  a  cold  gray  stretch 
of  country,  covered  with  a  cold  gray  sky '  ?  " 

"  Yes,  but  he  admits  that  what  has  been  writ- 
ten of  the  grandeur  and  marvels  of  Alaska  scen- 
ery, and  all  these  brilliant  accounts  (such  as 
Muir*s)  of  its  glaciers,  its  volcanoes,  etc.,  refer 
to  southeastern  Alaska,  which,  in  plain  talk,  is 
a  horse  of  another  color." 


i 


40  A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 

"  The  contrasts  must  be  like  those  of  north- 
ern and  southern  New  Zealand,  I  suppose  ? " 
says  Miss  Margaret. 

"  What  is  a  casino,  Father  ?  "  puts  in  Her- 
bert. "  Cousin  Lex  wrote  me  that  we  ought  to 
have  a  casino  on  our  Klondike." 

"  Great  Scott  !  what  a  silly  ! "  laughs  Allen. 
"Why,  Bert,  what  else  should  a  casino  be  but 
an  excursion-house,  like  the  big  one  over  at 
Shell  Beach  ?  " 

"  Beg  pardon,  Master  Allen,"  says  Father 
Edwards;  "  Herbert's  casino,  or  the  Kashga  of 
Alaska,  is  all  that,  and  very  much  more.  It  is, 
as  Father  Barnum  tells  us,  the  exchange,  club- 
house, restaurant,  workshop,  bath-house,  hos- 
pital, theatre,  as  well  as  hotel,  of  an  Alaska  vil- 
lage. It  even  serves  at  need  for  the  chapel  of 
the  missionary." 

"  What  does  it  look  like  ? "  asks  Allen,  a 
good  deal  taken  down. 

"  Like  a  cellar  with  a  roof  over  it.  The  only 
light  and  ventilation  are  gotten  by  a  little  open- 
ing at  the  top,  protected  by  a  curtain  made  of 
fish-skin.    Most  of  the  Alaskan  food,  according 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


41 


to  our  good  Jesuit,  is  of  the  foulest  sort.  I  am 
almost  afraid  of  destroying  your  appetite  for 
lunch,  ladies,"  continues  the  priest,  "  but  really 
these  queer  people  seem  to  feast  mainly  upon 
rotten  salmon  and  codfish  and  on  bad  goose 
eggs,  with  a  mayonnaise  of  stale  seal  oil." 

"  Mercy  on  us  !  doesn't  it  make  them  sick  ?  '* 
cries  Margaret. 

"Certainly  it  does;  and  when  it  comes  to  doc- 
toring them,  the  missionaries  have  their  own 
time  of  it.  The  patients  insist  on  drinking 
castor-oil  like  a  delicious  cordial;  and  they 
slowly  chew  liver-pills,  as  we  might  a  chocolate 
caramel.  The  only  drug  they  dislike  is  Epsom 
salts.  As  a  people,  they  never  use  any  form  of 
salt." 

"  It  must  be  a  dreadful  place  to  live  in  !  "  says 
Mrs.  Kirke  with  a  shudder. 

"  Dreadful,  indeed,"  agrees  the  priest.  "  Think 
of  the  cold — in  winter  fifty  and  sixty  degrees 
below  zero.  Then,  the  long  dreary  nights,  last- 
ing from  two  in  the  afternoon  until  ten  the  next 
morning.  And  the  silence  I  They  say  that  is 
terrible.    As  far  as  the  eye  can  reach,  one  un- 


i 


42 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


broken  sheet  of  snow — everything  frozen,  mo- 
tionless, soundless,  desolate,  dead  !  " 

"  Poor  Lex  and  Lee  !  "  groans  Mrs.  Kirke. 
"  How  can  they  ever  travel  to  their  journey's 
end  through  such  a  living  tomb  ?  " 

"  By  dog-sleds,  I  presume,"  says  Father  Ed- 
wards. "  They  say  the  thoroughbred  Arctic  dog 
is  a  very  strong  and  handsome  animal.  Father 
Barnum  compares  them  to  half-tamed  wolves — 
yet  cowardly,  at  that.  He  says  they  do  not  bark: 
but  the  whole  pack  will  howl  in  chorus  for  hours, 
which  must  be  remarkably  cheerful  for  their 
owners.  Let  me  read  to  you,"  adds  the  priest, 
"  an  abbreviated  account  of  one  day's  journey 
(on  a  dog-sled)  given  by  our  good  Jesuit:  * 

"  '  First  we  bring  the  sled  inside  to  load  it.  It 
is  about  nine  feet  long,  and  only  eighteen  inches 
wide.  It  rests  very  low  on  the  ground,  and  has 
a  cross-bar  at  the  end  by  which  it  is  guided.  The 
frame-work  is  laced  together  with  little  thongs 
of  sealskin;  no  nails  or  screws  are  used  in  its 
construction,  hence  it  is  very  elastic,  and  able  to 
withstand  the  frequent  upsets  and  the  many  rude 

*  Messenger  of  the  Sacred  Heart,  August,  1895. 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


43 


shocks  which  it  will  receive  on  the  way.  Before 
loading  up,  we  will  extend  this  large  canvas 
sheet  over  the  sled  and  push  it  well  down  inside, 
and  let  the  edges  hang  over.  You  will  see  what 
it  is  for  in  a  few  moments.  Now  we  are  ready 
for  the  baggage,  and  we  can  carry  only  what  is 
absolutely  necessary.  The  tea-kettle,  frying- 
pan,  a  few  dishes  and  the  axe,  these  will  do  to 
start  with;  all  the  lighter  articles  are  placed  in 
the  front  part.  Next  comes  a  bag  of  tea,  and 
then  a  sack  of  flour;  these  two  things  form  our 
main  support  on  the  way.  We  will  bring  bre^id 
enough  for  a  day  or  two.  The  next  bag  holds  a 
little  sugar  and  a  few  other  provisions.  Now 
comes  a  very  important  item,  a  bag  of  leaf- 
tobacco,  which  we  will  place  in  such  a  manner 
as  to  get  at  it  easily.  This  is  not  for  ourselves. 
It  is  simply  the  currency  of  the  country  and  in- 
tended for  trading  with  the  natives.  If  we 
should  run  out  of  provisions,  we  shall  have  to 
buy  fish  for  ourselves  and  the  dogs;  besides  we 
shall  have  to  hire  guides  from  time  to  time,  so 
you  see  the  need  of  the  tobacco-bag.  Next 
come  our  valises  and  the  case  with  the  portable 


t 


I 


III' 


44 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC, 


altar;  these  are  heavy,  so  we  place  them  along 
the  bottom  of  the  sled,  towards  the  rear,  and 
put  our  rolls  of  blankets  on  top  of  them,  which 
will  form  a  good  seat,  when  we  have  a  chance  to 
use  it.  This  fills  the  sled,  so  we  fold  over  the 
edges  of  the  sheet,  tuck  it  well  in  and  lace  a  small 
rope  all  along  the  top.  This  sheet  keeps  the 
snow  out  and  holds  everything  together,  so  that 
when  upsets  occur,  nothing  can  tumble  out. 
The  next  morning  we  say  Mass  very  early. 
Then  we  dress  for  the  journey. 

"  *  Our  maraartun  [head-runner]  is  all  ready, 
and  so  he  starts  off  at  a  lively  gait.  One  of 
us  is  at  the  end  of  the  sled  to  steer  and  keep 
it  steady,  and  you  are  comfortably  seated  on  it, 
for  being  present  in  spirit  only,  you  will  not 
freeze. 

"  *  Those  who  were  holding  the  dogs  jump 
aside,  we  shout  good-by  and  the  team  dashes 
oflf  in  grand  form.  We  hope  it  is  a  fair  start,  for 
we  are  used  to  having  several  false  starts,  so  for 
a  few  moments  we  are  in  suspense.  We  have  to 
pass  near  the  edge  of  the  village  and  there  are 
several  caqhes  close  by  our  way.     These  are  the 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


45 


little  storehouses  of  the  natives,  and  are  always 
erected  on  four  high  posts  which  afford  splendid 
opportunities  for  a  tangle. 

" '  We  fly  by  the  first  one  all  right,  and  you 
remark  complacently  that  the  leading  dog, 
"  old  Cherrywanka,"  is  a  fine  chanlista.  At  the 
second  cache  we  are  not  so  lucky.  Cherrywanka 
clears  it,  but  the  pair  behind  him  stupidly  swerve 
and  take  the  other  side.  There  is  just  time  to 
guide  the  sled  by  safely,  and  in  an  instant  we  are 
in  a  tangle.  Some  of  the  dogs  have  been  violently 
knocked  down  by  the  sudden  shock,  and  all  oi 
them  are  snapping  viciously  at  one  another, 
howling,  jumping  around,  and  making  the 
tangle  as  complicated  as  possible.  However,  as 
we  were  somewhat  prepared  for  this  one,  we 
turn  the  sled  over,  and  get  to  work  among  them 
so  quickly  that  they  are  soon  clear;  then  we 
right  the  sled  and  off  we  go  again.  The  object 
of  upsetting  the  sled  is  to  prevent  our  unruly 
team  from  running  away  with  it  before  we  are 
ready. 

" '  We  are  clear  of  the  village  at  last  and  go 
down  the  shore  over  a  long  slope  of  hard  snow. 


''Ill"' 


46 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


^ 


I!;|m 


which  leads  us  out  upon  the  sea.  Our  maraar- 
tun  is  far  ahead  of  us  by  this  time,  as  all  our 
delays  and  tangles  are  in  his  favor.  The  dogs 
settle  down  well  to  work,  and  as  the  ice  is  very 
smooth  we  fairly  fly  along.  No  team  of  horses, 
whether  cayuse,  broncho,  or  blue-grass,  could 
keep  up  with  us.  However,  this  is  entirely  too 
good  to  last,  and  accordingly  the  sled  strikes  a 
piece  of  ice  and  is  capsized  in  an  instant.  It  oc- 
curred so  suddenly  that  you  had  no  time  to 
jump,  and  were  sent  heels  over  head.  These 
accidents  are  very  frequent.  We  are  far  from 
the  shore  at  present,  and  so  we  keep  a  sharp 
lookout  for  cracks  in  the  ice.  Wide  stretches 
of  open  water  occur  also,  and  this  is  one  of  the 
great  dangers  to  which  a  person  is  exposed 
when  caught  on  the  sea  at  night  or  by  a  storm. 
Every  winter  some  of  our  people  while  out  hunt- 
ing seals  are  caught  on  floes  and  carried  off. 

"  *  In  the  meanwhile,  we  have  been  gliding 
along  very  nicely,  and  have  come  to  a  wide  bay 
which  we  have  to  cross.  One  glance  shows  us 
that  there  is  plenty  of  trouble  at  hand  for  us  now. 
The  entire  sweep  of  the  bay  is  very  rough — great 


■P 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


47 


sheets  and  jagged  blocks  of  ice  are  piled  up 
everywhere  in  wild  confusion.  The  scene  re- 
sembles a  vast  marble  quarry.  Our  progress  is 
very  slow  and  tedious.  We  have  to  assist  the 
team,  push  the  sled  up  the  steep  ice  hills,  and 
guide  it  between  the  very  high  blocks.  In  spite 
of  all  our  efforts  the  dogs  are  constantly  en- 
tangling themselves  around  sharp  pinnacles  of 
ice,  and  the  sled  is  constantly  upsetting,  so  al- 
together, the  next  three  hours  are  full  of  trials. 

" '  At  last,  we  reach  the  shore,  and  stop  to 
take  tea  at  a  little  village  of  three  or  four  huts. 
The  dogs  are  exhausted  and  immediately  curl 
up  in  the  snow,  and  we  carry  what  we  need  into 
the  gloomy  casino.  Our  maraartun  kindles  a 
little  fire  on  the  floor  and  fills  the  kettle  with 
clean  ice.  We  are  too  cold  yet  to  approach  the 
heat,  and  when  we  are  able  to  move  about  freely, 
we  put  some  of  the  frozen  bread  to  thaw,  and 
have  tea.  Our  attendants  quickly  finish  the  con- 
tents of  the  kettle,  and  the  precious  tea  leaves 
are  greedily  received  by  the  few  residents  who 
have  been  squatting  around  staring  at  us.  We 
then  inquire  whether  there  are  any  sick  persons 


» 


B  ^^T^ 


48 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


1! 


lllMl 


in  the  settlement,  or  any  infants  to  be  baptized, 
and,  if  so,  we  attend  to  them;  otherwise  we  re- 
place our  things  in  the  sled,  straighten  out  the 
dogs  and  start.'  " 

"  Are  the  missionaries  able  to  do  much  with 
these  people  who  cost  them  such  terrific  hard- 
ships ?  "  asks  Miss  Elliott,  as  the  priest  pauses 
in  his  reading. 

"  The  harvest  may  not  seem  to  us  proportion- 
ate to  the  labor  and  the  zeal,"  returns  Father 
Edwards.  "  The  Jesuits  have  three  or  more 
missions  in  Alaska,  employing  about  nine 
Fathers  and  six  Brothers.  At  the  chief  mission, 
the  Holy  Cross,  on  the  right  bank  of  the 
Yukon,  they  have  a  church,  residence,  and  a 
boarding-school,  where  some  seventy  Indian 
children  are  taught  by  the  heroic  Sisters  of  St. 
Anne. 

"  Father  Barnum  gives  a  funny  description  of 
the  missionaries'  mode  of  announcing  Sundays 
and  holidays  to  the  natives.    He  says: 

"  *  When  a  white  pennant  displaying  a  red 
cross  is  hoisted  during  the  afternoon,  they  know 
that  on  the  morrow  they  must  come  to  Mass. 


A   KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


49 


When  the  Stars  and  Stripes  float  from  the  mis- 
sion flagstaff,  then  they  know  that  it  is  some 
American  holiday.  They  watch  the  flagpole 
very  closely.  Once,  when  the  Brother  incau- 
tiously strung  up  a  brace  of  wild  geese,  as  the 
readiest  means  of  placing  them  in  safety,  the 
vigilant  observer  construed  the  new  signal  as 
an  invitation  to  dine  with  us,  and  promptly  re- 
sponded.' " 

"  I  think  I  should  despair  of  teaching  such 
creatures  !  "  says  Miss  Elliott,  with  a  dreary  sort 
of  laugh. 

"  And  yet,"  urges  the  priest,  "  the  mission- 
aries have  their  consolations,  and  even  their  fun 
— as  you  have  seen.  Father  Barnum  records 
that  *  the  children  are  very  bright  and  learn 
rapidly.  They  have  been  taught  the  Tantum 
Ergo,  and  about  twenty  more  Latin  hymns. 
They  sing  the  Kyrie,  Gloria ,  Credo,  and  all  the 
responses  of  the  Mass,  with  such  precision  that, 
were  it  not  for  one  thing  only,  want  of  pocket- 
handkerchiefs,  you  might  imagine  yourself  at 
St.  Francis  Xavier's,  in  New  York,  or  even  in 
the  Sistine  Chapel.     We  have  one  young  boy 


I, 


TT^ 


50 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


m 


in  the  choir,  a  half-breed  cherub,  with  a  voice 
like  a  bird.'  He  goes  on  to  say,"  adds  Father 
Edwards,  "  that  *  among  our  Eskimo  there 
are  no  names  special  to  each  sex,  neither 
are  the  names  permanently  retained.  They 
usually  signify  common  objects  or  natural 
traits,  such  as  Big  Knife — Long  Pole — Sore 
Eyes — Lazy  Bones  (Shanok),  etc.,  and  hence 
afford  no  clue  to  relationship  or  baptism. 
We  always  give  the  parents  a  card  with  their 
child's  name  on  it,  and  they  generally  preserve 
it  carefully.  Sometimes  a  woman  will  come  to 
the  mission  and  hold  up  a  bundle  of  fur  with  the 
query,  "  What  is  my  baby's  name  ?  "  whereupon 
the  baptismal  record  has  to  be  searched  in  order 
to  refresh  the  maternal  memory.'  " 

"  Aren't  v  ad  you're  not  an  Eskimo  ?  " 

says  All'  ang  Herbert  in  the  ribs.  "  Fancy 

being  chi.otened  *  Sore  Eyes  '  / " 

"  Or  answering  round  the  campus  to  such  a 
name  as  *  Lazy  Bones  '  or  *  Blue  Nose  *  .' "  re- 
torts Bert. 

"  Everybody  must  have  blue  noses  up  there 
from  the  cold." 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


51 


"  In  that  case,"  laughs  Allen,  "  it  must  be  a 
common  thing  to  hear  mothers  calling  to  their 
kids:  *  Come  here,  Blue  Nose  No.  i  ! '  *  Look 
out  there,  Blue  Nose  No.  2  !  *  " 

**  Here  come  the  fishinp^-narty  ! "  says  Miss 
Elliott  as  a  chorus  of  laughing  voices  is  heard; 
and  over  the  rocks  climbs  into  sight  pretty 
Nan,  leading  her  merry  company  of  anglers. 

Jack  and  Phil  are  lugging  between  them  the 
big  creel  of  crabs — but  not  a  fish  is  to  be  seen. 

"  We  had  splendid  bites,"  cries  Freddie,  withi 
his  little  nose  so  shiny  and  sunburned  that  it  is 
like  a  bit  of  buttered  toast.  "  But  confound 
them  !  they  all  got  away  with  our  bait  ! " 

"They  were  the  biggest  fish  I  ever  saw, 
too  !"  adds  Phil. 

"  •  The  biggest  fish  /  ever  caught 
Was  the  fi.^h  that  got  away ! '  " 

laughs  Herbert,  as  he  and  Allen  rush  oflF  to 
forage  for  wood  and  water. 

There  is  plenty  of  dry  kindling  to  be  picked 
up  near  the  Yukon,  and  a  good  fresh-water 
spring  down  among  the  rocks. 

Veva  and  Jeannie  bestir  themselves  to  light 


I 


ii;  ii! 


Sa 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


the  camp-stove  with  such  wood  as  is  at  hand; 
and  Margaret  puts  on  the  pot  for  boiling  the 
crabs.  While  Mrs.  Kirke  and  Nan  are  looking 
over  the  camp  sup  'y  of  crockery  with  a  view  to 
lunch,  there  is  a  loud  shout  from  the  younger 
boys: 

"  Hello  !  Aunt  Grace  and  the  kids  have 
come  ! " 

And  there,  sure  enough,  Captain  Saltee  has 
just  landed  from  his  sail-boat  on  the  tiny  pier, 
a  lady  whom  Father  Edwards  advances  to  greet, 
and  two  little  lads  whom  Jack  and  Fred  welcome 
with  uproarious  delight. 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


53 


VI. 


Mrs.  Grace  Kirke  is  what  Philip  calls  "  an 
all-round  Aunty."  She  is,  indeed,  aunt  to  all 
our  young  picnickers,  as  we  will  now  proceed  to 
show. 

She  has  been  twice  married.  Her  first  hus- 
band, John  Winchester,  was  an  uncle  of  our 
young  friends  of  that  name.  Lex  and  Lee,  now 
in  Alaska  seeking  gold,  are  the  sons  of  John 
Winchester,  who  died  when  they  were  little  chil- 
dren. Some  years  after  his  death,  Aunt  Grace 
had  married  Mr.  Herbert  Kirke,  elder  brother 
to  Philip's  father,  who  in  his  turn,  sooa  left  her 
a  widow  with  twin  boys,  now  nearly  six  years 
old. 

These  little  fellows  are  known  as  Vaisey  and 
Tasey.  Their  full  names  are  Gervase  and 
Protase.  Having  been  born  and  baptized  on  the 
feast   of   Saints   Gervase   and   Protase,   Father 


'!("   '     'I 


I 


|i 


lli!| 

ii>l 


m 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


Edwards  had  begged  to  name  them  after  the 
twin-martyrs  of  Milan. 

They  are  very  lively  little  chaps,  with  not 
much  of  ^  le  saint  about  either  of  them  ;  and 
they  are  more  inclined,  by  their  merry  pranks, 
to  make  martyrs  of  their  friends  and  relatives 
than  of  themselves. 

They  are  as  alike  as  two  peas  in  a  pod,  and 
wear  sailor  suits  of  navy  blue  with  broad  white 
collars  reaching  to  their  waists,  and  tarpaulin 
hats  over  their  long,  yellow  curls. 

They  are  pretty  boys,  having  the  Kirke  fair- 
ness of  hair  and  skin,  with  the  great  dark  eyes 
of  their  mother,  who  is  a  small  brunette,  once 
a  beauty. 

Each  leads  by  a  string  in  his  right  hand  a  fat 
poodle  that  resembles  a  walking  sausage;  each 
carries  under  his  left  arm  a  pet  chicken.  To 
get  all  this  live-stock  safely  off  his  boat  must 
have  cost  Captain  Saltee  some  concern.  It 
may  be  well  to  know,  right  here,  that  Vaisey's 
poodle  is  named  Cute;  and  Tasey's,  Bute  (short 
for  Beauty,  and  not  the  Marquis). 

It  may  be  of  interest  also  to  state  that  Vaisey's 


^t5!^ 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


55 


hen  is  christened  Speckle,  and  Tasey's  Butter- 
cup. 

Speckle  is  a  Plymouth  Rock — gray,  stern  and 
decorous,  as  becomes  one  of  a  family  dating  back 
to  the  landing-place  of  the  Pilgrim  Fathers. 
Buttercup  is  a  yellow  Cochin,  gay  and  easy- 
going— a  golden  fluff  of  feathers,  good  for 
nothing  on  earth  but  to  look  pretty  and  devour 
her  own  eggs.  This  she  does  on  the  sly,  and 
then  trots  around  trying  to  look  innocent,  with 
the  fringes  of  the  yolks  hanging  to  her  guilty 
bill. 

"  Here's  a  dog-house  and  a  hen-coop  back  of 
the  tent,  just  like  Robinson  Crusoe  ! "  cries 
Freddie  to  the  twins. 

And  the '  the  fun  begins. 

Having  gotten  rid  of  his  charges,  it  does  not 
take  five  minutes  for  Vaisey  to  poke  aside  the 
seaweed  blanket  from  the  creel  of  live  crabs; 
and  in  two  more  Tasey  is  roaring  around  with 
the  great-grandfather  of  all  the  crabs  hanging  to 
his  chubby  forefinger. 

On  the  instant,  every  boy  is  up  with  a  stick 
or  a  stone;  and  for  a  short  but  bitter  while,  it 


j ■_ 


)  ■■■, 


(!|("!""rr; 


III 


I! ' 


'lllli 


56 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


seems  to  be  an  even  chance  whether  Sir  Protase 
or  Sir  Cancer  will  make  off  with  the  poor  little 
digit. 

Father  Edwards  comes  to  the  rescue,  how- 
ever, and  Mrs.  Arthur  Kirke  (as  we  will  now 
call  her  to  distinguish  her  from  Aunt  Grace) 
hunts  up  some  old  linen  rags  from  the  camp. 
But  during  the  bloody  battle  two  of  the  crabs 
escape  unseen  from  the  basket,  and  wriggle 
away  into  the  salt  grass. 

They  will  be  heard  from  later,  as  we  shall  see, 
with  startling  results. 

A  good  quarter  of  an  hour  (which  chances  to 
be  a  particularly  bad  one  for  Master  Tasey  !) 
elapses  before  Aunt  Grace  drops  breathless  into 
a  camp-chair. 

All  the  wounds  have  been  dressed  and  the 
crabs  safely  landed  in  the  boiling  pot. 

A  general  peace  is  proclaimed  in  order  to  give 
the  boys  a  long-promised  treat. 

This  is  to  hear  Aunt  Grace  read  to  them  all 
the  letters  Cousin  Lee  and  Cousin  Lex  have 
sent  back  to  home  and  friends  since  the  begin- 
ning of  their  journey  to  Alaska. 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


57 


Our  happy  picnickers,  old  and  young,  gather 
and  group  themselves  around  Aunt  Grace's 
chair. 

Settling  her  gold-rimmed  glasses  and  open- 
ing her  precious  packet,  that  important  little 
lady  begins: 


It 


Seattle,  Washington  State, 
August  6,  1896. 
Dearest  Mother  and  Folks: 

No  doubt  you  are  looking  for  a  letter  from  us, 
and  I  grasp  this  chance  to  write.  I  suppose  you 
got  my  telegram  from  here,  and  know  that  we 
are  all  right  after  our  long  journey.  But  oh  ! 
such  a  time  as  we  have  had  !  We  stopped  off  at 
St.  Paul  and  saw  cousins  Nace  and  Jim;  and 
we  bought  quite  a  good  deal  of  our  outfits  there. 
The  boys  were  delighted  to  see  us,  and  Nace 
trotted  us  all  over  town,  helping  us  wonderfully 
in  our  selections.  He's  a  fine  fellow,  and  no 
mistake.  The  scenery  over  the  Rocky  Moun- 
tains was  simply  magnificent;  but  when  we  got 
into  the  Alkali  country,  for  about  three  hundred 
miles  we  were  nearly  smothered  with  dust.    We 


'i 


1'^ 


it'  .  i 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 

reached  here  yesterday,  and  have  everything 
ready  to  start  to-morrow  morning  at  nine 
o'clock  on  the  steamship  Queen,  for  the  Klon- 
dike, by  way  of  Dyea. 

We  have  been  fortunate  enough  to  meet  a 
couple  of  fine  fellows  from  Chicago,  who  are 
also  bound  for  the  gold-fields.  One  of  them  is  a 
mining  engineer,  and  we  have  joined  forces,  and 
will  cross  the  Pass  together  and  live  in  the  one 
cabin.  Well,  you  never  saw  such  an  excitement 
in  your  life  as  is  to  be  seen  here.  Nothing  is  to 
be  heard  on  every  side  but  Gold — Gold — Gold  ! 
It  reminds  one  of  the  poet  Hood's  famous  lines. 
Seattle  is  simply  wild,  and  we  had  the  most  ex- 
citing time  getting  passage  on  the  steamship — 
every  berth  being  engaged  a  week  or  more 
ahead.  We  would  never  have  been  able  to  go 
if  our  Chicago  friends  had  not  given  us  half 
their  cabin. 

Gracious  !  if  you  could  only  look  out  over 
this  town  and  see  the  people  gone  gold-crazy,  it 
would  amaze  you  !  And  yet,  quite  a  number  of 
men  are  coming  back  daily  from  Dyea,  because 
of  the  hard  journey  over  the  Pass. 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


59 


,-j? 


Dearest,  zve  are  young  and  strong,  and  with 
God's  help  we  are  going  to  push  through  to  the 
gold-fields,  where,  from  all  accounts,  we  are 
^ure  we  shall  make  a  fortune.  We  have  bought 
all  our  outfits,  and  the  four  of  us  will  take 
through  about  3500  pounds  of  provisions — 
enough,  as  we  figure,  to  last  us  a  year.  We  have 
bought  two  horses,  one  boat,  sleds,  snow-shoes, 
etc.,  etc.;  and  we  start  with  bright  prospects,  as 
I  don't  think  we  have  overlooked  anything. 
One  of  our  new  friends  has  a  camera  with  him, 
and  at  the  first  chance  we  will  send  you  photos 
of  our  camp  and  other  interesting  scenes.  Now, 
my  dearest  mother,  make  yourself  perfectly  easy 
about  us.  We  are  well  and  strong,  and  full  of 
hope.  Take  the  best  care  of  yourself  and  the 
two  darling  kids;  and  if  we  succeed,  be  in  the 
very  best  shape  to  enjoy  our  fortune  with  us. 
We  will  try  to  send  you  some  money  in  the 
spring,  if  we  have  any  luck  at  all.  Kiss  Vaisey 
and  Tasey  for  us  six  times  apiece,  and  give  our 
love  to  all  the  Kirkes  and  Winchesters.  We 
have  said  the  beads  every  day  since  we  left,  and 
will  try  to  make  up  for  the  loss  of  Mass  on  Sun- 


!||B' 


6o 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


MM  { 


I 


!: 


i  ill 


•'■', 


iilli' 


ptlllllllill'l'll 


'  "'yiiiiiiiiiii 


days  in  the  wilderness  by  saying  some  extra 
prayers,  as  you  have  always  taught  us  to  do. 
God  bless  you  all  !  We  will  write  again  as  soon 
as  we  get  the  chance. 

Devotedly  your  sons, 

Lex  and  Lee. 
P.S. — Be  sure  and  take  good  care  of  yourself, 
dearest  mother,  for  all  the  happiness  would  be 
gone  for  us  if  we  came  home  rich  as  kings,  to 
find  your  precious  face  missing. 

On  board  the  Steamship  Qtieetiy 
OflF  British  Columbia,  Aug.  9,  1896. 
Dearest  Mom  and  Folks: 

You  can  see  by  this  letter-head  where  we  are; 
and,  as  we  hope  to  pass  a  steamer  going  south, 
either  to-night  or  to-morrow  morning,  I  con- 
cluded to  drop  you  a  line,  although  I  haven't 
very  much  news  to  tell  you  as  yet.  We  left 
Seattle,  as  we  had  planned,  on  the  7th.  We  have 
had  a  pleasant  trip.  The  scenery  up  through 
Puget  Sound  is  very  grand.  The  Sound  varies 
from  one  to  three  miles  in  width,  and  the  giant 
mountains  rise  from  the  water's  edge  on  both 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


6l 


sides,  running  up  a  couple  of  thousand  feet.  We 
have  run  about  five  hundred  miles  from  Seattle; 
and  since  leaving  Victoria  (British  Columbia) 
we  haven't  seen  a  house  for  four  hundred  miles. 
You  cannot  imagine  how  this  adds  to  the 
grandeur  of  these  vast  and  lonely  surroundings. 
I  heartily  wish  you  were  all  with  us,  and  I  hope 
if  we  can  make  a  good  "  strike  "  that  we  can 
some  day  bring  you  over  this  part  of  the  trip. 

We  passed  a  steamer  going  south  early  this 
morning,  and  she  reported  to  us  that  the  steamer 
City  of  Mexico  was  wrecked  last  night.  She  ran 
upon  a  sunken  rock,  and  went  down  in  four 
hundred  feet  of  water.  But  everybody  on  board 
was  saved,  thank  God  !  It  was  very  foggy,  and 
she  got  off  her  track  some  twenty  miles,  taking 
the  wrong  channel.  I  don't  wonder  at  her  mis- 
take, as  the  channels  and  straits  are  innumer- 
able. We  have  seen  lots  of  whales.  The  Sound 
is  full  of  them. 

We  took  all  the  Vanderbilt  party  on  board  at 
Victoria.  I  met  one  of  the  family  years  ago, 
when  I  was  a  boy,  in  South  Carolina,  and  he  re- 
membered me,  and  had  quite  a  chat  with  me  last 


"  "W 


62 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


■'4.      ;;i 


evening.  He  wants  me  to  give  him  some 
"  points  "  when  we  get  to  the  Klondike,  as  he  is 
interested  in  "  grub-staking  "  some  claims  there. 
I  am  to  have  another  talk  with  him  before  we 
leave  the  boat.  They  are  to  stay  on  the  steamer 
and  return  with  her  again.  It  is  only  a  pleasure- 
trip  for  them.  We  will  land  at  Skaguay  Bay 
about  Thursday  afternoon.  If  possible  I  will 
write  again  from  there.  And  after  that  I  cannot 
say  when  you  will  get  a  letter  from  us.  Oh,  if 
we  could  only  get  one  from  you  !  But  it  is  im- 
possible, as  just  now  we  are  nothing  more  than 
tramps — here  to-day  and  gone  to-morrow.  God 
bless  and  keep  you  all  !  Love  to  the  kids  and 
all  the  cousins.    Lee  joins  me  in  kindest  regards. 

Your  affectionate  son, 

Lex. 

Juneau,  Aug.  ii,  1896. 
Dearest  Mother  and  Folks: 

Here  we  are  at  Juneau  !  Got  here  last  night, 
and  leave  this  morning  at  12  o'clock.  We  have 
a  hundred  miles  to  go  before  we  land  at  Dyea; 
and  from  there  we  go  over  the  difficult  Pass. 


•^'f^ 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


63 


and 


ight, 

have 

>yea; 

IPass 


I  think,  however,  from  what  is  told  us  here,  that 
the  dangers  and  hardships  are  greatly  exagger- 
ated; but  of  course  you  cannot  tell.  They  all 
tell  you,  though,  that  there  is  plenty  of  gold  up 
there.  We  have  several  ladies  with  their  hus- 
bands going  on  into  the  mines.  It  is  raining  here 
this  morning.  I  have  just  gotten  back  to  the 
ship  from  town.  A  big  thriving  place  is  this 
Juneau — and  queer  to  Eastern  eyes.  I  wish  you 
could  see  this  mass  of  dark,  mighty  mountains, 
with  the  wide  city  lying  at  its  feet,  and  all  its 
long  wharves  crowded  now  with  traffic. 

I  got  a  large  tent  for  our  party  of  four.  We 
will  have  altogether  about  two  tons  and  a  half 
of  stuff.  They  say  that  the  Stewart  River  is  the 
best  place  to  strike  for,  as  two  fellows  whom  we 
met  last  night,  and  who  hav  ^  just  returned  from 
there,  took  out  in  seven  days  one  hundred  and 
fifty  pounds  of  gold  ! 

We  hope  to  strike  a  claim  like  that.  We  both 
wish  we  could  hear  from  you  before  we  start  into 
the  mines;  but  I  am  afraid  that  this  will  be  im- 
possible, as  there  will  not  be  another  vessel  up 
for  a  week,  and  we  will  have  left  Dyea  before 


i 


ri|.i"H'"' ;, 


I 


llill 


i     !'l 


ii 


Illl^ll 


I    I 


III 


64 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


that  time.  We  are  bracing  ourselves  for  the 
battle  which  we  have  yet  to  fight,  with  the  hope 
of  our  all  being  together  once  again  in  the  near 
future.  This  may  be  the  last  letter  which  we  can 
send  you  for  some  time,  but  do  not  worry  if 
you  do  not  hear  from  us  until  pring.  We  ar^ 
all  right  now,  and  propose  to  keep  so. 

Yours  affectionately, 

Lex. 

• 

Porcupine  Hill  in  the  Mountains, 
August  23,  1896. 
Dearest  Mother  and  Folks: 

We  are  delighted  to  take  the  chance  of  send- 
ing you  a  letter  to  let  you  know  how  we  are 
getting  along.  We  landed  at  Skaguay  Bay, 
which  is  about  four  miles  from  Dyea  Pass,  as 
we  find  that  almost  every  one  is  going  by  this 
route.  The  Skaguay  Pass  is  about  twelve  miles 
longer,  but  is  not  nearly  so  steep.  We  have 
now  been  about  ten  days  on  the  trip,  and  are 
only  about  twelve  miles  in  the  mountains.  You 
can  see  by  this  that  our  progress  is  slow.  We 
have  about  forty-five  hundred  pounds  of  stuff, 


III , 

I 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


65 


Hstuff, 


which  we  have  to  carry  partly  with  the  aid 
of  four  donkeys,  and  partly  on  our  backs.  It 
takes  about  nine  trips  to  move  it  all;  that  is,  we 
move  our  camp  about  five  miles  forward,  and 
then  we  start  and  carry  all  our  stuff  up  to  it,  and 
move  ahead  four  or  five  miles  further.  At  the 
rate  at  which  we  are  now  getting  on  I  am  afraid 
that  we  will  have  to  camp  all  winter  at  Lake 
Linderman,  as  we  have  about  thirty-five  miles 
further  to  go,  and  only  about  from  four  to  six 
weeks  at  the  latest  before  winter  sets  in  in  ear- 
nest. If  the  lake  is  frozen  up  when  we  reach 
there  we  will  have  to  build  a  log  cabin  and  stay 
there  for  the  winter;  but  we  are  making  every 
effort  to  get  through,  and  hope,  with  the  help  of 
God,  to  be  able  to  do  so.  The  trail  is  almost 
impassable  in  places;  what  with  mud,  rocks  and 
about  five  hundred  horses,  we  are  detained  some- 
times for  two  or  three  hours.  The  mountains  are 
several  thousand  feet  in  height,  and  you  go  up 
one  and  down  another,  as  I  say,  about  forty-five 
miles.  They  kill  on  an  average  some  four  horses 
a  day,  either  through  packing  them  too  heavily 
or  through  some  of  the  beasts   sliding  over 


h 


1 1 


l" 


•ij'i-'^irr 


66 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


''ff. 


I 


iirii 


!ij  III  ,' 

i 


'In'iiiliili'i, 


cliffs  from  weakness  and  overwork.  One  horse, 
ahead  of  us,  fell  five  hundred  feet,  and  lit  in  the 
top  of  a  tree,  pack  and  all.  The  men  got  to  work, 
cut  the  tree  down,  and  started  the  animal  on  the 
trail  again,  not  at  all  hurt  as  far  as  we  could 
judge.  There  would  be  no  danger  of  this  kind 
if  they  would  not  work  their  horses  so  much, 
but  the  poor  beasts  become  so  weak  that  when 
they  come  to  a  very  narrow  place  on  the  Pass 
they  cannot  keep  their  feet,  and  over  they  go. 

I  hope  you  are  all  as  well  as  we  are,  for  really 
the  hard  work  seems  to  agree  with  us.  Hoping 
soon  to  be  able  to  write  you  the  good  news  that 
we  have  gotten  through  this  fall,  I  am,  as  ever, 

Your  own 

Lee. 

We  will  write  you  as  soon  as  we  have  any 
good  news.    Be  sure  and  pray  for  us  ! 


^|»IWI>f^Ppi| 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


67 


VII. 


I 


Porcupine  Hill, 
September  8,  1896. 
Dear  Folks: 

I  have  again  a  chance  to  write  you,  which  I 
gladly  avail  myself  of.  We  are  well,  thank  God  ! 
But  I  will  tell  you  candidly  that  we  need  vigor- 
ous health,  as  in  our  endeavors  to  reach  the 
gold-fields  we  are  going  through  the  hardest 
ordeal  that  either  man  or  beast  could  experience. 
All  that  we  have  read  at  home  about  the  diflficul- 
ties  to  be  encountered  on  this  dreadful  Pass  you 
can  multiply  by  three. 

The  trail  lies  over  mountains  thousands  of 
feet  high,  where  you  have  to  jump  from  rock  to 
rock  (and  where  a  misst*^*-  means  a  fall  down  a 
precipice  five  hundred  feet  deep),  and  then 
through  mud  up  to  your  waist,  through  rapids 


68 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


m\i' 


and  rushing  waters.  This,  and  much  more,  have 
we  gone  through  since  our  last  letter  to  you. 
Many  are  selling  their  outfits  and  going  back, 
appalled  by  the  dangers,  etc.;  but  we  are  still 
pushing  onwards,  moving  our  two  tons  of  pro- 
visions about  half  a  mile  a  day  over  these  moun- 
tains, with  the  dogged  determination  of  reaching 
the  Alaskan  gold-fields  or  dying  in  the  attempt. 
There  will  be  very  few  get  in  this  fall,  owing  to 
the  expense  of  having  provisions  packed  over 
the  trail  to  the  lakes,  a  distance  of  forty-five 
miles.  You  will  get  some  faint  idea  of  the  cost 
when  I  tell  you  that  they  offered  to  land  our  pro- 
visions these  forty-five  miles  for  one  dollar  per 
pound,  or  a  matter  of  four  thousand  dollars  ! 
We  are  now  advanced  on  the  trail  about  fifteen 
miles,  and  we  have  still  about  thirty  to  go,  which 
we  think  will  take  us  until  the  winter  sets  in. 
We  are  writing  this  in  our  tent,  on  the  top  of  a 
range  of  mountains  at  least  twelve  hundred  feet 
high.  On  the  right  is  a  rushing  torrent  dashing 
over  the  rocks  in  boiling  cascades.  On  the  left 
is  a  deep  ravine.  The  trail  passes  twenty  feet  in 
front  of  our  tent.    Do  we  sleep  well  ?    Well,  I 


'^W^P,i 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


69 


should  say  so  !  After  plugging  up  and  down  the 
mountain,  packing,  we  turn  in  about  eight  or 
nine  o'clock,  and  up  again  at  four  a.m.,  on  the 
push.    I  tell  you  it  is  labor,  and  no  mistake. 

You  would  not  know  your  two  dudes,  dear 
mother,  if  you  were  to  meet  them  face  to  face.  I 
have  not  seen  my  countenance  for  weeks.  All 
on  the  trail  look  very  much  the  same,  viz.,  like  a 
set  of  tramps;  and  we  meet  here  on  our  travels 
all  kinds  and  conditions  of  men.  Well,  good-by, 
until  we  get  the  chance  to  write  again. 

Lex. 


Aunt  Grace  lays  aside  her  glasses,  wipes  her 
eyes,  which  the  sight  of  her  dear  exiles'  letters 
always  dims,  and  looking  around  her,  asks: 

"  Will  somebody  run  over  to  the  cove  and  see 
if  the  tide  is  up  ?  I  don't  want  the  little  ones  to 
lose  their  bath." 

Two  or  three  somebodys  rush  off  to  a  little 
smooth  horse-shoe  of  sand  which  affords  a  nice 
bathing-place  among  the  rocks.  There  is  a 
good-sized  bath-house  there  as  well. 

Jack  is  the  first  one  back. 


'y.i  '^'y""  V  r 


70 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


"  High  tide  !  "  he  announces  out  of  breath, 
for  Phil  and  Fred  have  almost  outrun  him  in  the 
race.  "  And  I  tell  you,  that  sun's  as  hot  as 
a  mustard-plaster  ! " 

"  Come,  boys,"  cries  Father  Edwards,  "  let's 
all  go  and  take  a  bath.  Make  your  mind  easy, 
Mrs.  Kirke,  I'll  see  to  the  twins.  Come,  Vaisey 
— come  Tasey  !  " 

And  away  they  go  trooping,  the  priest  and 
the  seven  boys,  with  the  dogs  at  their  heels. 

"  What  a  comfort  Father  Edwards  is  !  "  sighs 
Mrs.  Grace;  "  nothing  is  a  trouble  to  him.  It  is 
perfect  rest  to  know  the  children  are  safe 
in  his  care." 

Meanwhile  the  girls  have  moved  the  camp- 
chairs  to  the  other  side  of  the  tent  to  escape  the 
sun,  which  (as  Jack  has  declared)  is  now,  indeed, 
"  as  hot  as  a  mustard-plaster." 

All  settle  themselves  comfortably.  Aunt 
Grace  and  her  sister-in-law  take  out  certain  bits 
of  lace-work  they  have  brought  in  their  bags. 
Nan  nestles  at  her  mother's  feet,  and  leans  her 
pretty  head  against  her  knee. 

**  Momsie  dear,"  she  says,  "  I'm  all  tuckered 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


71 


out.  That  fishing  excursion,  without  any  fish, 
has  worn  me  threadbare.  I  don't  wonder  Josiah 
Allen's  Wife  calls  it  an  *  exertion.'  " 

"  Certainly  it  is  an  *  exertion/  "  assents  Mrs, 
Kirke  smiling.  "  By  the  way,  I've  always 
thought  Josiah  Allen's  Wife  said  a  particularly 
good  and  true  thing  when  she  advised  all  pic- 
nickers on  the  return  trip  from  an  *  exertion  * 
not  to  talk." 

"  Why  ?  "  ask  the  girls. 

''  Because,  as  she  says,  every  one  after  a  long 
day's  outing  is  apt  to  be  tired  and  nervous,  and 
consequently  cross  and  unreasonable.  Pie  and 
pickles  sometimes  work  sad  havoc  with  one's 
temper — to  say  nothing  of  cake  and  lemon- 
ade." 

Veva  and  Jeannie  by  this  time  have  brought 
out  the  camp-table  from  the  tent,  and  Miss 
Elliott,  with  Olive's  help,  begijis  to  spread  the 
lunch.  ^ 

It  is  high  noon,  and  the  bathers  will  not  be 
back  for  an  hour.  The  chickens  have  been  feed- 
ing on  some  tid-bits  the  girls  have  flung  them. 

"  Come  here.  Buttercup,  and  be  nursed,"  calls 


,1  '"' 


72 


-A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


':«;■ 


Nan.    "  You'll  get  the  dyspepsia  if  you  eat  any 


more. 


>> 


The  tame  creature  obeys  at  once,  and  cuddles 
down  in  Nan's  lap  like  a  pet  cat.  She  has  such 
a  wealth  of  golden  feathers  that  she  fills  the 
girl's  lap,  and  she  literally  purrs  under  the  ca- 
ressing strokes  of  the  pretty  white  hand. 

"  Come  here,  Speckle,"  laughs  Olive,  "  you 
shall  not  be  neglected.  You  poor  old  Plymouth 
Rock  !  come  over  here,  and  tell  me  all  about  the 
Pilgrim  Fathers  and  the  Pilgrim  Mothers  ! " 

"  And  their  sisters  and  their  cousins  and  their 
aunts,"  adds  Nan,  as  Speckle  leaps  up  to  Olive's 
knee,  and  looks  rather  shamefaced  under  the 
unusual  caresses. 

"  Girls,  you'll  spoil  those  hens,"  suggests 
Veva,  arranging  the  cups  and  saucers.  While 
Jeannie  calls  to  Miss  Elliott:  "  Cousin  Margaret 
you've  dropped  your  bag.  Isn't  that  a  letter 
that  has  fallen  out  of  it  ?  " 

Margaret  sinks  into  a  chair,  and  begins  to 
laugh. 

"  Was  there  ever  such  a  stupid  ?  "  she  cries, 
picking  up  the  bag  and  turning  out  its  contents. 


mmmw 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


73 


to 


nes, 
;nts. 


"  Of  course  it  is  a  letter;  and  here  is  a  package 
besides.  The  post-boy  gave  them  to  me  this 
morning  just  as  I  boarded  the  car  at  the  Inlet. 
I  stuffed  them  into  my  bag  and  forgot  all  about 
them.  Now,  with  your  permission,  ladies,  I'll 
look  at  the  letter,  which  I  think  is  from  my  dear 
old  Sister  Alacoque  at  St.  Xavier's." 

Presently  she  lifts  her  smiling  eyes  to  Jeannie, 
with  the  question: 

"  Do  you  remember  my  speaking  of  Gertrude 
de  Venne — the  beautiful  French  girl  who  was 
at  St.  Xavier's  for  a  time  ?  '* 

Yes;  is  she  married  ?  "  asks  her  cousin. 
Joined  the  Carmelites,"  returns  Miss  Elliott. 
"  Sister  Alacoque  has  often  promised  to  tell  me 
a  story  about  Gertrude's  mother  and  another  re- 
markable girl,  who  were  the  leading  spirits  in 
the  old  convent-school  in  France,  where  Sister 
was  educated.  This  " — and  she  raises  a  roll  of 
thin  foreign  paper  from  her  lap,  **  this  is  the 
story  at  last." 

"  Oh,  please  read  it  to  us  ! "  plead  Veva  and 
Jeannie. 

It  seems  to  be  very  childlike,"  says  Mar- 


(< 


<< 


it 


■wmr 


74 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC, 


garet,  turning  the  leaves  and  skimming  through 
them.  "  My  good  old  Sister  of  Mercy  writes 
quite  simply — a  plain  unvarnished  tale.  Maybe 
it  will  prove  too  tame  for  your  tastes — *  milk  for 
babes  ! ' — eh,  Nan  ?  " 

"  So  much  the  better  ! "  says  Mrs.  Kirke. 
"  There  are  no  critics  here;  and  it  is  far  too  hot 
for  *  strong  meats '  to-day.  I,  for  one,  am  sick 
of  the  heavy,  sensational  stories  of  the  period." 

"  And  I ;  "  murmurs  Aunt  Grace.  "  One  tires 
of  the  lurid  realism  of  even  Sienkiewicz  and 
Corelli." 

"  Well,  here  goes  ! "  cries  Miss  Elliott, 
straightening  out  her  roll  of  paper.  "  If  it 
bores  you,  it  is  easy  to  tell  me  to  stop.  Sister 
calls  her  story 

An  Example  in  Algebra. 


It  did  not  seem  a  hard  example,  but  she  could 
not  do  it.  She  had  worked  at  it  several  hours 
each  day  for  the  week  past.  She  had  pored  over 
it  for  the  entire  afternoon.  At  six  o'clock  she  was 
to  Rfo  to  class.    And  without  it  ?    So  it  seemed 

After  a  moment's  thinking,  she  arose  from 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


75 


her  litde  table,  and  stood  by  the  window.  One 
long  glance  at  the  beautiful  country  landscape 
in  the  November  twilight;  and  then  she  spoke 
to  herself  aloud  and  reprovingly: 

"  Nothing  has  ever  conquered  you  yet,  Ger- 
trude— nothing  !  There  never  was  a  lesson — a 
duty,  which  you  did  not  face  and  vanquish. 
And  now,  at  the  age  of  eighteen,  an  algebra  ex- 
ample ?    Shame  !  '* 

She  walked  up  and  down  her  little  room,  her 
brows  contracted,  her  hands  clasped  behind  her. 

"  My  father  died  at  the  cannon's  mouth,  com- 
mitting his  soul  to  God.  My  mother — so  the 
nuns  tell  me — bore  years  of  suffering  like  a 
heroine,  and  died  like  a  saint.  If  heredity  has, 
any  power  at  all,  I  ought  to  be  a  marvel;  yet 
here  I  am,  foiled  J)y  a  simple  example  in  alge- 
bra !    The  fact  is  humiliating." 


n/^:-: 


if 


p 


I 


76 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


'1  i 


^:i| 


11  ! 


VIII. 

A  GENTLE  knock  at  the  door  was  followed  by 
the  entrance  of  a  fair  and  lovely  girl  of  about 
Gertrude's  age. 

"  How  fierce  you  look  ! "  she  exclaimed, 
laughing  lightly. 

"  And  fierce  I  feel,"  returned  Gertrude,  with- 
out discontinuing  her  walk.  "  Do  you  know, 
Aimee,  I  cannot  solve  that  last  example  in  alge- 
bra ?  " 

"  Is  that  all,  Gertrude  ?  I  feel  relieved  !  I 
feared  something  of  moment."  And  Aimee 
joined  her  friend  in  her  walk. 

"  I  do  not  like  to  fail  in  anything.  I  never 
have  failed  before.  I  do  not  know  from  personal 
experience  what  failure  means." 

"  Ah,  Gertrude,"  said  her  friend  sweetly,  "  do 
you  remember  what  Mother  St.  Louis  told  you 
when  she  was  dying — that  she  would  procure 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


77 


I 
lee 

fever 
mal 

do 

rou 

lure 


some  great  favor  for  you  on  the  feast  of 
St.  Gertrude,  if  on  that  day  she  was  in 
heaven  ? " 

"  Of  course  I  remember  it  !  And  to-morrow 
will  be  St.  Gertrude's  feast.  It  is  her  feast  al- 
ready, isn't  it  ?  The  feasts  of  the  blessed  begin, 
they  say,  on  their  vigils." 

"  Her  feast  already,  dear,  and  perhaps — " 
Aimee  hesitated. 

Gertrude  looked  impatient. 

**  Perhaps  what  ?  "  she  inquired. 

^'  Perhaps  the  favor  lies  in  your  not  getting 
that  example,  Gertrude." 

"  You  say  that,  Aimee  ?  And  do  you  realize 
all  the  getting  of  that  example  may  mean  to 
me  ?  Do  you  forget  that  Professor  Ribaut  has 
promised  to  assist  me  in  getting  into  the  School 
of  Technology  over  in  America,  or  into  the  Uni- 
versity at  Glasgow,  or  into  the  National  School 
of  Science  here  in  France — or,  at  least,  to  get 
for  me  the  direction  of  the  teachers  at  one  of 
these  places  ?  Of  course  I  prefer  America,  my 
parents'  country  and  mine — " 

Aimee  was  silent  for  a  moment  or  two  before 


tt-r 


78 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


HI 


answering;  then  she  laid  her  hand  on  Ger- 
trude's arm,  and  said  in  a  solemn  tone: 

"  Gertrude,  I  have  been  thinking  how  much 
the  not  getting  of  the  example  may  mean  to  you. 
I  will  say  no  more  now.  You  wish,  it  would 
seem,  not  to  understand  me.  But  I  will  pray  for 
you,  Gertrude,  that  you  may  understand  me  be- 
fore long.    You  are  my  dearest  friend." 

It  was  now  Gertrude's  turn  to  be  silent,  but 
as  they  stood  together  by  the  window,  she  beat 
the  floor  nervously  with  her  foot. 

"  I  wish  not  to  fail  in  my  lesson.  I  never  fail 
in  anything.  What  has  my  whole  record  been 
here  at  school  for  the  past  ten  years  but  one  of 
vigorous  efforts — and  successes  ?  " 

"  There  are  lessons  in  life,  Gertrude,  which  are 
worth  more  than  book-learning  to  us;  science 
fades  before  them.  They  are  the  lessons  in 
which  God  Himself  instructs  the  heart." 

^*  You  are  very  wise,  Aimee,"  said  her  friend, 
with  that  intense  respect  which  virtue  always  ex- 
cites in  the  truly  noble,  "  and  very  sweet  in  your 
wisdom.    There  is  the  bell  for  recitation  !    Let 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


79 


us  go.  Sister  likes  to  have  us  in  class  before  she 
comes." 

As  Professor  Ribaut  greeted  his  pupils  in  the 
l:.;rge  hall,  his  expression  of  welcome  merged 
into  one  of  keen  admiration  as  Gertrude 
McDonald  passed  before  his  desk. 

"  Miss  McDonald,"  he  inquired,  as  soon  as 
the  class  were  seated,  "  have  you  solved  that 
problem  in  algebra  ?  And  are  you  ready  to  dem- 
onstrate the  last  proposition  in  geometry  ?  " 

The  color  rose  to  Gertrude's  cheeks  as  she  re- 
plied: 

"  I  have  demonstrated  the  proposition.  Pro- 
fessor, but  the  problem  I  have  not  yet  solved." 

A  shadow  passed  over  the  master's  face. 

"  I  am  disappointed  !  Not  one  member  of 
the  faculty  in  Paris  could  work  out  that  prob- 
lem. I  told  them  I  had  a  pupil — a  young  lady — 
who  would  not  fail  to  get  it.  They  have  prom- 
ised me  to  petition  the  opening  of  the  School  of 
Science  to  women,  if  I  can  bring  them  the  prob- 
lem solved  by  one.    /  am  disappointed  ! " 


So 


"A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


IX. 


His  tone  was  so  bitter  that  a  thrill  ran  through 
the  youthful  assembly — a  thrill  of  keen  and  sym- 
pathetic disappointment.  Every  eye  turned  to 
Gertrude.  She  had  been  the  intellectual  idol  of 
her  class ;  but  it  seemed  to  them  all  (even  as  to  her 
own  heart)  at  this  trying  moment,  that  the  idol 
had  fallen.  They  had  regarded  her  as  a  genius. 
Like  herseli,  they  had  held  the  opinion  that  fail- 
ure in  anything  was  not  for  her.  It  had  been  at 
her  urgent  desire  that  Mother  St.  Francis  had  al- 
lowed the  professor  to  direct  a  class  in  edvanced 
mathematics  at  the  convent.  It  was  she  who 
had  inspired  thirty  other  girls  with  the  same  am- 
bition and  industry  that  directed  her  own  stud- 
ies. Professor  Ribaut  had  never  looked  to  her 
intelligence  in  vain.  Now,  when  he  looked  to  it 
and  leaned  i.pon  it  with  the  most  eager  anxiety 
— with  a  vivid  sense  that  his  own  reputation  as  a 


^  /  ' 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


8l 


teacher  was  at  stake — he  was  doomed  to  painful 
disappointment. 

Gertrude's  voice  was  always  very  sweet  and 
clear,  but  now  it  seemed  to  assume  an  added 
softness  in  tone,  as  she  ventured  to  say: 

"  One  may  be  able  to  do  in  two  weeks  what 
has  not  been  accomplished  in  one.  I  will  try  the 
problem  again,  professor.  Or,  it  may  be,  some 
other  member  of  the  class  has  the  correct  result." 

The  other  pupils  smiled,  half  in  amusement, 
half  in  denial. 

The  rest  of  the  work  was  taken  up  by  the 
class,  but  there  was  little  spirit  manifested.  The 
usual  strict  attention  seemed  gone.  The  work 
was  all  difficult,  and  it  had  been  well  prepared, 
but  the  attendant  Sister,  who  sat  writing  at  her 
desk  in  one  corner  of  the  room,  remarked  the 
dulness  of  the  recit  .tion,  as  she  had  also  re- 
marked its  cause.  When  the  hour  had  expired 
Professor  Ribaut  bade  his  pupils  a  courteous 
good  evening.  He  paused  a  moment  before 
passing  cut  of  the  door. 

"  Miss  McDonald,  1  will  not  give  up  hope,'* 
he  said;  "  I  will  wait  another  week." 


82 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


Gertrude  smiled  her  gratitude,  and  then  went 
over  to  Sister's  desk. 

**  You  saw  my  humiliation,  Sister,"  she  said 
quietly. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  Sister,  with  tender  sympathy 
in  her  voice. 

"  I  am  never  to  get  that  example.     Sister,  I 
feel  I  am  not.    However,  I  will  try." 
,  All  the  pupils  had  now  left  the  hall. 

Sister  and  Gertrude  remained  a  while  speak- 
ing together,  and  then  Gertrude  went  to  the 
chapel. 

She  had  always  prayed  a  great  deal  over  her 
lessons;  she  had  always  claimed  that  in  the 
chapel  she  had  obtained  through  earnest  peti- 
tion all  that  had  made  her  the  admiration  of  the 
school.  She  had  always  said:  "  If  one  is  not 
living  and  working  for  God  alone,  what  is  she 
in  this  world  for  ?    She  ought  to  seek  another." 

Everything  had  seemed  vain  to  her  which 
was  not  directed  in  some  way  to  Him  who 
from  earliest  infancy  she  had  been  taught  to 
reverence,  serve  and  love. 

Now  she  knelt  in  the  chapel  alone. 


cil 
ell 

t? 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


83 


She  felt  sure  that  the  feast  of  St.  Gertrude 
was  already  being  celebrated  in  heaven,  that 
even  then  the  great  and  powerful  saint  was  dis- 
pensing favors  to  her  clients  and  to  those  recom- 
mended to  her  intercession.  Gertrude  bowed 
her  head  and  prayed  as  she  had  never  prayed 
before — as  only  the  humble  soul  knows  how  to 
pray — feeling  that  the  Sacred  Heart  was  near 
with  a  newness  of  love,  and  regarding  the  media- 
tion of  the  saints  as  one  of  the  dearest  of  graces. 

The  week  passed  away.  Gertrude  had  worked 
at  the  problem;  but  when  the  evening  for  recita- 
tion came,  it  was  to  see  her  still  with  no  satis- 
factory result  to  present  to  Professor  Ribaut. 
What  her  interior  combat  had  been,  perhaps  no 
one — not  even  Mother  St.  Francis  or  dear 
Aimee — ever  suspected. 

Time  passed  on.  The  example  seemed  for- 
gotten, but  all  that  followed  from  it  was  pe- 
culiarly emphatic.  Every  one's  manner  seemed 
changed.  Gertrude  had  never  been  a  very 
talkative  girl,  but  now  she  grew  strangely  silent 
— not  with  a  proud  and  sullen  silence,  but  with 
a  most  thoughtful  and  prayerful  reserve. 


1^ 


m 


84 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


X. 


l'''  I 


A  YEAR  went  by. 

It  was  again  the  14th  of  November,  the  vigil 
of  St.  Gertrude's  feast. 

Mother  St.  Francis  sought  Gertrude's  room. 

"  I  have  a  letter  from  your  cousin  in  Boston, 
your  guardian,  Gertrude,"  she  said,  as  Gertrude 
rose  from  her  chair  to  welcome  her,  "  and  he  in- 
forms me  that  a  gentleman  in  connection  with 
the  United  States  Navy,  who  at  present  resides 
in  Boston,  is  willing  to  take  you  as  his  pupil.  He 
was  formerly  a  professor  at  a  scientific  school  in 
New  York,  and  your  cousin  says  he  is  one  of  the 
leading  men  of  our  day  in  civil  engineering  and 
all  kindred  subjects." 

Gertrude  listened  respectfully  until  Mother 
St.  Francis  had  finished  speaking.  Then  she 
looked  at  the  floor  and  out  of  the  window  before 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


85 


replying.  At  length  she  inquired:  "  What  does 
my  cousin  wish  me  to  do  ?  " 

"  He  leaves  the  decision  entirely  to  me,"  re- 
turned the  nun,  "  and  I  feel  that,  though  the 
sacrifice  is  one  both  for  our  school  and  for  my- 
self personally,  I  ought  to  let  you  go.  Your 
cousin  and  his  wife,  whom  I  have  long  known, 
are  model  Catholics.  You  will  reside  with 
them.  Your  one  aspiration  for  years  has 
been  to  become  a  teacher,  and  this  opportunity 
for  improvement  is  so  excellent  a  one,  it  does 
not  seem  right  in  me  to  keep  you  from  it. 
You  are  now  nineteen  years  old — a  fact  that 
greatly  influences  my  decision.  I  have  already 
prayed  over  the  matter,  but  it  seemed  clear  to 
me  from  the  first  that  I  ought  to  let  you  go." 

The  tears  were  in  Gertrude's  eyes.  She  drew 
a  second  chair  near  the  window  and  they  sat 
down  together. 

"  Mother,"  said  Gertrude  gravely,  "  my  mind 
has  been  steadily  changing  since  the  vigil  of  the 
feast  of  my  patron  saint,  a  year  ago  to-day.  Then 
I  did  long  to  be  a  teacher — a  professor — thor- 
oughly prepared  for  an  able  and  long  career.    I 


'wr^ 


86 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


iffiWli:!!! 


see  now  how  vain  were  my  best  hopes.  I  see 
what  possibilities  of  failure — perhaps  frequent 
failure — would  await  me.  The  very  possibility 
itself  would  gnaw  all  the  peace  and  happiness 
out  of  my  life.  I  have  been  thinking  that  for  a 
character  like  mine  there  ought  to  be  a  profes- 
sion where  failures  are  impossible.  Where  I  be- 
gin, where  I  labor,  I  must  succeed." 

Mother  St.  Francis  laid  her  hand  gently  over 
Gertrude's. 

"  My  dear  child,  failures  are  sometimes  best 
for  us  all.  God  does  not  look  to  the  result,  but 
to  the  effort." 

"  That  is  exactly  what  I  mean,  Mother.  I 
must  have  some  work  in  life,  some  career,  where 
only  effort  is  considered.  Then  there  could  be 
nothing  but  a  series  of  successes." 

Mother  St.  Francis  sighed.  She  saw  clearly 
that  God  Himself  was  dealing  with  the  heart  of 
this  dear  child. 

"  Where  did  you  get  all  these  ideas,  Ger- 
trude ?  When  did  you  begin  to  have  this  view 
oi  life  and  of  your  life-work  ?  " 

"  When  I  failed  to  get  that  algebra  example , 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


87 


last  year.  Mother,  I  wouldn't  wish  to  get  it 
now.    I  would  rather  save  my  soul  first." 

Gertrude's  look  and  tone  added  a  strange, 
deep  meaning  to  her  words. 

The  Mother  smiled,  but  she  respected  the  sin- 
cerity with  which  Gertrude  spoke. 

"  To-morrow,  dear,"  she  said,  rising,  "  will  be 
the  feast  of  St.  Gertrude.  We  will  pray,  we 
will  implore  her  intercession  at  our  communion, 
that  you  may  be  guided  only  by  God's  holy 
will." 

As  Mother  St.  Francis  bade  Gertrude  good- 
night, Aimee  entered  the  room,  and  for  an  hour 
the  two  friends  conversed  together  much  more 
seriously  and  religiously  than  they  had  ever  con- 
versed before. 

It  was  decided  the  next  day,  even  by  Ger- 
trude herself,  that  she  had  better  return  to 
America;  and  before  Christmas  she  was  installed 
at  her  home  in  Boston,  and  had  begun  her  les- 
sons with  her  new  instructor.  Her  cousins 
were  extremely  proud  of  her.  Dignified  and  re- 
served of  manner,  yet  sweet  and  courteous  in 
her  intercourse  with  others,  she  seemed  a  per- 


!,' 


It 


i 


:■■'< 


,i:  1. 


88 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


Mh 


son  whose  great  influence  in  the  world  might 
be  easily  prophesied.  The  hearts  of  her  family 
found  in  her  their  delight;  and  the  sorrow,  dis- 
appointment and  humiliation  of  the  other  side 
of  the  sea  might  have  been  forgotten.  So  it 
probably  would  have  been  by  many  another,  but 
for  Gertrude,  even  in  the  midst  of  her  brilliant 
work,  in  the  midst  of  sweet  domestic  happiness 
and  the  constant  admiration  of  a  host  of  friends, 
there  ever  loomed  before  her  mental  gaze  the 
one  failure  of  her  life — an  unsolved  example  in 
algebra. 

^  41  ik  « 

Forty  years  have  passed  away;  and  only  a 
month  ago  there  entered  at  the  Carmelite  Con- 
vent in  a  well-known  city  of  America  a  young 
French  girl  named  Gertrude  de  Venne.  She 
was  greeted  by  the  Superior,  a  venerable  re- 
ligious of  sixty  years,  whose  infirmities,  cares, 
constant  fasts  and  long  vigils  rendered  her 
feeble  and  aged  long  before  her  time,  but  in  her 
glance  and  smile  there  were  a  sweetness  and  a 
freshness  which  increasing  years,  through  in- 
creasing holiness,  would  make  only  more  and 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


89 


more  heavenly.  Her  name  was  Mother  Ger- 
trude of  the  Heart  of  Jesus,  and  the  dear  girl  to 
whom  she  was  giving  her  holy  welcome  was  the 
youngest  child  and  only  daughter  of  her  old 
school  friend,  now  Madame  Aimee  de  Venne. 

As  the  new  aspirant  to  religious  life  removed 
her  worldly  dress  she  took  from  her  pocket-book 
a  worn  yellow  paper  with  faded  writing  upon  it. 

"  Mamma  told  me  to  show  you  this,  dear 
Mother.  She  wishes  you  to  know  that  it  has 
helped  her  to  give  me  up  willingly  to  God's  ser- 
vice. She  wishes  me  to  tell  you,  too,  that  old 
Professor  Ribaut,  whose  son  now  occupies  his 
place  in  Paris,  is  still  living.  He  is  eighty-seven 
years  old." 

Mother  Gertrude  opened  the  paper,  and  the 
tears  rushed  to  her  eyes.  Raising  her  glance  to 
heaven,  she  sat  for  a  moment  wrapped  in  prayer. 
The  holy  calm  which  ever  encompassed  her 
seemed  to  break  away  for  the  time  in  a  rapturous 
thanksgiving  of  the  heart. 

Her  little  namesake  waited  a  brief  space  and 
then  murmured: 

"  Mamma  says  that  example  has  never  yet 


-•* 


IfPlVH 


I 


90 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


been  worked  out,  though  even  now  the  younger 
Professor  Ribaut  gives  it  to  his  pupils.  Old 
heads  have  declared  it  cannot  be  solved." 

A  week  later,  when  a  little  trunk  of  treasures 
went  back  to  Aimee  from  the  convent  which  had 
received  her  precious  child,  she  found  within  it 
a  note  from  her  holy  old  friend. 

"  My  loved  Aimee  "  (it  read) :  "  Please  give 
the  enclosed  solution  to  Professor  Ribaut  when 
you  have  the  opportunity  of  seeing  him,  and 
tell  him  for  me  that  only  to-day  the  way  to  pro- 
cure the  correct  result  came  unsought  into  my 
mind.  It  will  certainly  be  a  gratification  to  his 
professional  heart  to  see  the  problem  solved. 
Please  assure  him  of  my  constant  grateful  re- 
membrance of  him  before  God,  and  say  that  now 
that  I  am  at  least  in  the  way  of  saving  my  soul 
through  God's  mercy,  I  have  little  fear  in  send- 
ing him  what  would  have  been  fatal  to  me  nearly 
half  a  century  ago — the  correct  answer  to  a  most 
difficult  example  in  algebra" 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


91 


unger 
Old 


asures 
:h  had 
thin  it 

e  give 
t  when 
n,  and 
to  pro- 
ito  my 
I  to  his 
solved. 
il\x\  re- 
lat  now 
ny  soul 
n  send- 
e  nearly 
)  a  most 


XI. 


As  Miss  Elliott  finishes  the  old  Sister's  story, 
and  the  girls  sit  pondering  dreamily  upon  its 
moral,  a  chorus  of  boyish  voices  is  heard  singing 
close  at  hand: 

"Golden  bright  as  the  best  champagne, 
This  fair,  life-giving  sea  ! 
The  old  Greeks'  cure  for  a  heart  in  pain 

Was  a  bath  in  its  waters  free. 
Dreamed  they  then  of  this  strand  of  strands, 

Whose  breath  one's  being  thrills? 
An  ocean  bath  on  Klondike  sands 
Hath  cure  for  all  our  ills! 

Yo  ho,  my  lads,  yo  ho ! " 

Father  Edwards  and  the  boys  are  back  from 
their  bath  in  a  fine  glow  of  spirits.  The  very 
poodles  seem  to  have  a  fresh  curl  in  their  saucy 
tails,  and  the  twins  are  rosy  as  little  Cupids. 

"  We  are  as  hungry  as  wolves  ! "  announces 
Philip.  "  Nothing  like  a  bath  for  giving  a  fel- 
low an  appetite  I 


i.  "i 


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^, 


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>r^%. 


Ta 


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V 


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IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


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1^  1^ 

2.2 


1.8 


1-25  ill  1.4   i  1.6 


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I 


92 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


(t 


tt 


**  To  give  you  more  appetite  than  you  already 
have,"  says  Nan,  "  is  like  carrying  coals  to  New- 
castle ! " 

"  Lunch  is  ready  !  "  proclaims  Allen,  who  has 
arrayed  himself  in  a  white  apron  of  Mrs.  Arthur 
Kirke,  and  now  bows  to  the  assembled  company 
with  the  grace  of  a  high-class  waiter. 

"  Le  convert  est  mis  ! "  cries  Herbert.  "  Why 
don't  you  do  it  in  French,  Al  ?  " 
Or  in  Irish,"  suggests  Jack. 
Don't  you  know,  Jack,"  says  Father  Ed- 
wards, "  that  the  waiters  at  all  the  best  hotels  in 
Dublin  talk  French  like  Parisians  ?  But,  good 
gracious,  boys  "  (giving  a  slap  at  his  face  as  he 
sits  down  to  lunch),  "  the  mosquitoes  are  here 
by  the  thousands  !  They'll  devour  us  before  we 
get  to  the  dessert." 

"  We're  supposed  to  be  in  the  desert  already. 
Father,"  retorts  Herbert  with  a  comical  smile; 
"  in  the  desert  of  the  Klondike.  That  swarms 
with  mosquitoes,  they  say." 

"  Haven't  you  a  net,  young  gentlemen  ?  ** 
asks  Margaret. 

For  reply  several  of  the  boys  rush  to  the  tent 


w^ 


M 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNiC. 


93 


f> 


and  drag  out  an  enormous  roll  of  red  netting. 
And  then  the  ladies  begin  to  understand  the  use 
of  four  high  poles  that  are  sunk  in  the  sand  as  if 
to  form  a  large  quadrangle,  with  the  camp-table 
for  its  centre.  They  are  made  from  the  old 
masts  of  a  shipwrecked  vessel,  and  the  elder 
boys,  who  are  all  experts  at  hurdling  and  high- 
jump,  soon  show  their  dexterity  by  casting  the 
netting  over  the  poles. 

The  mosquitoes  driven  out  by  many  hands 
armed  with  towels,  the  airy  curtains  are  dropped 
to  the  sand,  and  our  friends,  old  and  young,  find 
themselves  in  a  delightful  fairy  bower  which 
would  throw  any  civilized  dining-room  into  the 
shade. 

Father  Edwards  takes  up  a  sandwich  and  be- 
gins to  laugh,  saying: 

**  This  reminds  me  of  Stockton's  funny  story, 
Th€  Casting  Azvay  of  Mrs.  Leeks  and  Mrs. 
Aleshine.  Do  you  remember,  Mrs.  Kirke,  the 
account  of  the  comforts  and  luxuries  enjoyed 
by  those  worthy  women  after  they  were  ship- 
wrecked in  mid-ocean  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  replies  Mrs.  Arthur  Kirke,  dispensing 


94 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


the  good  things  among  the  party  with  a  liberal 
hand,  "  one  of  the  women,  I  remember,  while 
floating  on  the  water  on  a  life-preserver,  actually 
produces  a  Bologna  sausage  and  a  clasps-knife 
from  her  pocket  and  proceeds  to  cut  slices  for 
her  own  and  her  companion's  enjoyment." 

"  And  when  they  finally  reach  the  desert 
island  in  safety,"  recalls  Miss  Elliott,  "  they  find 
there  a  cottage  filled  with  every  convenience 
for  their  use.  Not  a  creature  to  be  seen  in  the 
house,  but  even  white  lawn  wrappers  trimmed 
with  blue  ribbons  are  hanging  up  in  the  closets  !*' 

"  It  seems  the  very  height  of  the  ridiculous," 
says  the  priest;  "  and  still,  a  friend  who  has  trav- 
elled in  Norway  tells  me  that  there  in  the  snow 
mountains  are  often  to  be  found  little  tenjntless 
cabins  equipped  with  beds,  coverlets,  etc.,  and 
rich  in  cupboards  well  supplied  with  lots  of 
canned  goods." 

"  For  the  use  of  the  mountain-fairies  ?  "  asks 
Mrs.  Grace  Kirke  smiling. 

"  No;  for  the  use  of  tourists.  My  friend  says 
that  the  spirit  of  that  land  is  so  honest  and  trust- 
ing that  the  owner  of  the  cabins  allows  all  trav- 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


95 


ellers  to  help  themselves  to  the  beds  and  food, 
according  to  their  needs,  with  the  understanding 
(which  is  universal)  that  each  shall  deposit  on 
the  window-sill  inside  the  cottage,  just  as  Mrs. 
Leeks  and  Mrs.  Aleshine  did  in  the  jars  on  the 
mantel-shelf,  as  much  money  as  he  or  she  con- 
siders a  just  compensation." 

"  But  don't  the  tramps  steal  the  money  ?  '* 
says  Miss  Elliott. 

"  It  seems  not,"  replies  the  priest.  "  The 
owner  of  these  mountain  cabins  stocks  them 
with  food  in  April,  and  then  goes  his  way.  He 
does  not  return  to  them  until  October,  when  he 
collects  his  dues  from  unknown  and  long-gone 
boarders — finding  the  window-sill  piled  thick 
with  coins." 

"  Such  a  plan  of  collecting  board-money 
would  not  work  well  in  America,"  says  Aunt 
Grace,  as  she  gives  an  apple-tart  to  each  of  the 
twins,  and  flings  some  cheese  to  the  poodles. 

Then  the  talk  trails  off  into  a  sober  chat 
among  the  elders  of  the  party  on  questions  of 
foreign  and  domestic  morality. 

This  does  not  interest  the  younger  fry.    The 


im 


"mi 


:| 


96 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


girls,  enjoying  their  cakes  and  tea,  begin  to  dis- 
cuss in  an  undertone  the  story  of  Gertrude 
McDonald;  while  the  boys  draw  close  together 
and  between  huge  mouthfuls  of  pie  exchange 
views  on  foot-ball  and  base-ball,  detailing  the 
names  of  fellows  they  know  on  the  newest 
"  teams." 

Their  voices  rise  by  degrees,  until  such  terms 
as  "left  field,"  "centre  field,"  "first  base," 
"  second  base,"  "  short-stop,"  "  pitcher  and 
catcher,"  are  heard  above  all  the  rest  of  the 
talk. 

When  every  one  else  has  paused  to  listen,  Phil 
is  heard  in  a  solitary  roar: 

"  You  bet,  when  Dick  Hare  was  short-stop 
and  tried  to  stop  that  big  inshoot  with  his  head 
— there  was  something  wrong  with  the  mask, 
and  the  ball  broke  every  bone  in  his  face  !  " 

"  Horrible  !  "  cries  Father  Edwards.  "  That's 
what  I  call  brutal  play  !  *  Broke  all  the  bones  in 
liis  face,*  did  you  say  ?  How  many  bones  are 
there  in  the  human  face,  Phil  ?  " 

"  Don't  know,  sir,"  replies  Kirke  rather 
abashed. 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC, 


97 


"  Fourteen,  sir,"  says  Herbert,  who  is  well  up 
in  his  anatomy,  with  dreams  of  being  a  doctor 
some  day. 

"  Correct,"  assents  the  priest,  adding:  "  My 
brother  is  house-surgeon  in  a  New  York  hos- 
pital, and  he  tells  a  queer  story  about  a  man 
there  who  had  broken  all  the  bones  of  his  face. 
Not  with  base-ball  or  foot-ball,  either.  He  was 
an  Irishman  named  Jimmy  Hogan,  and  he 
worked  in  a  five-story  elevator  on  the  wharf. 
One  day  he  was  standing  just  within  the  door 
on  the  second  floor  when  he  heard  a  voice  cry: 
'  Look  out  there  ! '  Jimmy  thought  it  was 
really  an  invitation  for  him  to  look  out  and  up, 
which  he  did;  and  on  the  instant  an  iron  weight 
of  fifty  pounds  fell  full  on  his  face  !  " 

**  Ugh  ! "  shudder  all  the  ladies,  while  some 
of  the  boys  give  long,  low  whistles  of  sym- 
pathetic surprise. 

"  Fact,"  says  Father  Edwards.  "  When  they 
fetched  him  to  the  hospital  the  doctors  set  about 
repairing  the  damages.  He  was  a  horrible 
sight,  brother  says — his  face  a  mass  of  bloody 
jelly.    The  queer  part  of  it  was  that  none  of  them 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


had  ever  seen  the  man  before  the  accident.  They 
had  nothing  to  guide  them  in  building  up  his 
face  again.  *  Let's  make  him  as  handsome  as  we 
can  !  *  said  one  of  the  surgeons.  So  they 
patched  and  mended  as  well  as  science  helped 
them  to  do — made  him  a  Roman  nose,  and 
straightened  out  all  the  dents;  filled  in  with 
oakum,  and  rounded  off  all  the  ragged  edges. 
Their  work  was  a  success.  Jimmy  came  out 
from  under  their  hands  a  wonder  of  manly 
beauty.  Some  days  after  his  wounds  had 
healed,  his  wife  came  hunting  for  him.  She  had 
been  round  all  the  hospitals  in  New  York  be- 
fore she  found  him.  That  day,  Doc  says,  they 
had  taken  off  the  bandages,  and  Jimmy  sat  be- 
side his  cot,  dressed,  and  as  handsome  and  im- 
posing as  a  Roman  senator.*  Mrs.  Hogan 
looked  him  over,  and  then  began  to  wail  : 
*  That's  not  my  man  at  all,  at  all  !  Sure  Jimmy 
niver  looked  like  that ! '  *  Have  you  a  picture 
of  your  husband  ? '  says  Doc.  '  'Deed  an'  I 
have  ! '  cries  Mrs.  Hogan,  *  and  a  good  photy 
of  him  it  is — taken  a  week  before  he  got  hurted.* 

*  A  fact. 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


99 


'Bring  it  to-morrow,'  says  Doc,  sending  her  off — 
although  the  Roman  senator  could  be  heard  de- 
claring the  woman  to  be  his  true  and  lawful  wife. 
She  came  the  next  day,  bringing  a  photograph 
of  a  man  who  was  as  ugly  as  sin,  with  a  pug 
nose,  a  retreating  forehead,  and  a  wide,  smirk- 
ing mouth.  It  took  some  time  to  convince 
Mrs.  Hogan  that  she  really  owned  the  other  (?) 
handsome  man  with  the  Roman  nose;  but 
Jimmy  and  the  surgeon,  between  them,  made 
everything  right;  and  in  due  tim^  she  lugged  off 
her  beauty  of  a  boy,  as  happy  (Doc  says)  as  if 
she  had  drawn  a  first  prize  in  a  lottery." 

This  story  amuses  all,  but  tickles  Philip  Kirke 
more  than  the  others.  He  laughs,  and  laughs 
again,  over  his  dish  of  boiled  crabs,  to  which  he 
has  been  devoting  himself  so  industriously  that 
he  now  sits  before  a  ruin  of  empty  scarlet  shells 
and  jagged  legs. 

"  i"'hilip  ! "  cries  his  mother,  "  I  believe  you 
have  eaten  up  half  the  crabs.  As  a  penance,  you 
must  give  us  your  recitation  on  '  Crabbing  at 
Shell  Beach.' " 

"  All  right  ! "  swaggers  Phil,  showing  great 


100 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


i* 


^'M 


g^ood-humor.     "  If  you  can  stand  it,  I  can  ! 
and  with  a  broad  grin  on  his  comical,  cross- 
eyed face,  he  lumbers  to  his  feet,  and  begins  in 

rather  a  sing-song  fashion: 

"  The  tide  runs  low,  the  salt  winds  blow 
Over  the  briny  bay. 
The  old  drawbridge  is  a  bonny  plaje 
On  a  sweet  September  day. 

'•  The  dull  blue  waters  wash  the  wharves, 
The  seaweed  twines  the  piers, 
Like  the  long  green  hair  of  a  mermaid  fair. 
Wet  with  her  salt,  salt  tears. 

"  Swish  t  goes  the  line  in  the  dimpling  tide — 
Like  rubies  the  red  bait  gleams! 
Out  of  his  weedy  lair  the  crab 
Floats  from  his  noontide  dreams. 

"  Bewitching  Cancer  !  fair  to  see 
'  Are  the  olive  tints  of  thy  shell : 

Thy  strong  blue  claws,  thy  serrate  jaws, 
Thy  jewel'd  eyes  as  well  ! 

"  Full  of  coquettish  grace,  approach 
The  bait  of  the  dangling  line — 
Quick  with  the  net !    Ah,  charming  pet, 
Tho^u'rt  safe  in  this  snare  of  mine  ! 

*'  Now  to  the  basket's  depths  descend 
And  sleep  in  its  gloom  profound  : 
The  while  'neath  the  lid,  securely  hid, 
Cool  seaweeds  wrap  thee  round. 

"The  sport  goes  on  ;  the  white-wing'd  yachts 
Skim  over  the  glittering  bay  ; 
And  now  and  then  to  the  lock  drifts  in 
A  sail-boat,  sunny  and  gay. 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC, 


lOI 


**  The  '  fiddlers  '  wriggle  and  writhe,  and  crawl 
To  their  holes  in  the  dusky  loam  ; 
The  pungent,  brassy  winds  of  the  marsh 
Over  the  waters  come. 

"  Dance  on,  grave  crabs,  in  your  minuet, 
While  the  '  fiddlers  '  gayly  play ! 
Oh,  the  old  drawbridge  is  a  bonny  place 
On  a  sweet  September  day  !  " 

"  Now,  Bert,  it's  your  turn,"  cries  Nan.  "  I 
don't  think  Father  Edwards  has  ever  heard  you 
recite  the  lines  Cousin  Lex  wrote  to  tease 
Jeannie  before  he  went  to  Alaska." 

"  Oh,  yes,  Bert  !  "  coax  all  the  girls,  "  give 
us  the  *  Eldest  Daughter  '  !  " 

And  amid  much  poking  and  pushing  from 
Phil,  Allen  and  Jack,  Herbert  finds  himself  con- 
fusedly on  his  feet,  reciting  what  he  calls  in  his 
mind,  with  some  contempt,  "girl-poetry": 

"  'Tis  sweet  to  be  the  eldest  child, 

The  first  pure  pledge  of  wedded  love. 
The  first  dear  angel  undefiled, 

All  other  firstlings  far  above ; 
But  certain  'tis  we  envy  not 
The  eldest  daughter's  sorry  lot. 
Tis:  'Jeannie,  watch  the  children  yonder  I 
Don't  let  the  boys  or  baby  wander 
Among  the  rocks  or  near  the  water  1 ' 
'Tis ;  *  Jeannie,  wait ! '  or : '  Jeannie,  hurry  T 
Ah,  me,  how  full  of  care  and  worry 
Is  mother's  eldest  daughter  I 


.ii 


1 

l&j 

H 

v§ ' 

"''  ;l 

1 

:r^ 


%: 


102 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


"  If  Freddie  stumbles  in  the  pond 
Or  Jackie  loses  hat  or  shoe, 
If  Allen's  book  is  illy  conn'd 
Or  Olive  vexes  baby  Lou, 
The  eldest  sister's  patient  soul 
Must  bear  the  harden  of  the  whole. 
'Tis  • '  Jeannie,  what  Aas  come  to  Freddie?* 
'  Has  Jackie  lost  that  shoe  already  ?' 
*  Why  wasn't  Allen's  lesson  shorter  ?  ' 
'Here,  sit  by  Olive's  side,  and  maybe 
'  You'll  keep  the  minx  from  teasing  Baby!' 
Alas !  poor  eldest  daughter  ! 

*  Where  selfless  tasks  must  brave  be  done, 
(Nursing  by  day  or  watch  by  night),       ^ 
Whene'er,  from  rise  to  set  of  sun, 

A  thousand  wrong!  must  be  set  right, 
Beside  her  mother,  grave  of  face, 
The  eldest  daughter  finds  her  place. 
'Tis  :  'Jeannie,  Jack's  a  bruise  distressing!' 
Or  : '  Jeannie,  Freddie's  cut  needs  dressing  I ' 
•Quick!  spread  the  poultice!  heat  the  water!' 

And  so  it  goes— noon,  night,  and  morning. 

Reproving,  aiding,  coaxing,  warning. 
Heaven  help  the  eldest  daughter  I  " 


n 


Come  on,  eldest  daughter ! "  cries  Nan 
springing  up,  "  and  all  the  younger  daughters, 
too.  There's  plenty  of  work  for  idle  hands. 
We've  got  all  these  dishes  to  wash  and  things 
to  put  to  rights  before  Aunt  Grace  can  go  on 
with  the  boys'  letters  ! " 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


103 


XII. 


Father  Edwards  has  finished  his  office  in  a 
little  quiet  spot  over  beside  the  Yukon;  and 
when  he  comes  back,  smoking  his  cigar,  he  finds 
the  lunc!  ill  cleared  away,  and  the  entire  party 
sitting  under  the  mosquito-netting  waiting  his 
return. 

The  ladies  have  taken  out  their  lace-work 
again,  and  the  girls  cluster  round  Aunt  Grace, 
who  is  opening  her  precious  packet  of  letters. 
She  only  waits  for  the  priest  to  be  seated  to  ex- 
plain that  the  next  Alaskan  letter  is  from  Lex  to 
her  nephew,  Sam  Bradleigh. 

A  wild  bird  sings  its  short,  sweet  broken  song 
in  a  tree  close  by;  the  broad  ocean  glitters  like  a 
mass  of  diamonds,  and  a  gentle  breeze  flutters 
the  rose-colored  netting,  as  she  begins: 


MM 


104 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


Skaguay  Trail,  Alaska, 
Hotel  de  Cabin,  Sept'  20,  1896. 
My  Dear  Sam: 

I  enclose  a  letter  to  each  of  your  boys,  in 
answer  to  those  which  they  wrote  to  me. 
It  was  a  joy  to  get  them.  I  was  greatly 
pleased  to  see  that  they  had  not  forgotten 
me.  We  have  taken  a  contract  for  a  man 
from  Skaguay,  to  build  a  cabin  for  him. 
We  have  it  nearly  completed.  It  puts  in  the 
time  for  us,  and  keeps  us  fellows  outside  where 
we  can  get  hardened  up  against  the  date  when 
we  have  to  be  again  on  the  march.  We  will  very 
often  have  to  sleep  right  on  the  snow  inside  of 
our  sleeping-bags:  as  it  will  not  pay  when  we  get 
on  the  move  to  pitch  a  tent  for  one  night's 
stand.  We  will  just  have  a  big  camp-fire  built, 
and  we  will  lie  alongside  of  it.  There  will  be 
six  in  our  immediate  party — that  is,  travelling 
companions,  but  we  are  three  different  parties 
as  regards  partnership.  If  we  find  it  is  re- 
quired we  will  each  stand  a  watch  at  night  and 
keep  up  the  fire.  It  is  very  cold  here  now;  the 
mercury  registers  fifteen  to  twenty-five  below. 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


105 


If  you  could  hear  the  wind  howling  through  this 
canyon  at  night  you  would  think  the  lower  re- 
gions had  broken  loose.  They  say  they  have 
struck  it  rich  at  Lake  Tagish,  about  thirty  miles 
from  here,  but  we  have  been  unable  to  learn  if  it 
is  true,  owing  to  our  having  so  much  difficulty  in 
getting  over  there.  I  do  not  know  whether  to 
believe  it  or  not,  as  there  are  so  many  reports 
going.  I  saw  a  man  yesterday  who  came  out 
from  Dawson  City,  and  I  questioned  him  closely 
in  regard  to  the  finds. ,  He  tells  me  they  are  not 
at  all  exaggerated.  They  have  started  to  build 
a  wagon  road  from  Skaguay  to  Lake  Bennett, 
which  I  think  will  eventually  be  turned  into  a 
railroad.  They  are  making  a  sleigh  road,  also, 
up  the  river;  but  the  snow  has  not  gotten 
packed  down  well  enough  yet  for  it  to  be  of  any 
use.  The  Canadian  police  have  about  one  hun- 
dred and  fifty  dogs  at  Skaguay  waiting  until  the 
river  trail  is  fit  to  pack  on.  It  is  surprising  to 
see  what  loads  these  dogs  will  take  along.  I 
saw  a  fellow  moving  the  other  day  from  his  tent 
where  he  tried  to  winter  (but  he  could  not  stand 
it).    He  built  himself  a  cabin  about  half  a  mile 


im 


I 


'lai, 


Rl  i 


io6 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


above.  He  had  four  dogs,  with  four  hundred 
pounds  on  his  sleigh,  and  was  going  up  quite  a 
grade  at  that.  Of  course,  though,  he  had  a  fair- 
ish beaten  road  just  at  this  point. 

Tell  Mrs.  B.  I  think  she  would  enjoy  look- 
ing at  some  of  the  work  done  by  the  Indian 
women.  They  display  wonderful  taste  and  in- 
genuity in  making  fancy  articles.  If  I  ever 
get  rich  and  can  afford  it,  I  intend  to  bring  a 
collection  of  them  home  with  me. 

Their  villages  are  the  queerest  places  you 
ever  saw.  They  have  great  quantities  of 
**  totems,"  like  our  American  Indians;  and  these 
emblems  of  the  tribes  are  indicated  by  poles, 
bearing  idols  which  they  worship  in  some  sort  of 
fashion.  Some  of  these  idols  are  twenty  feet 
high,  with  frogs,  serpents,  men,  all  carved,  one 
above  the  other,  and  painted  in  the  gayest 
colors.  One  in  particular  struck  me  as  being 
very  funny.  It  was  the  highest  figure  on  a  pole 
in  the  village.  It  represented  a  man  with  an 
immense  head,  little  body  and  very  short  legs, 
surmounted  with  a  large  high  hat  painted  green. 

The  natives  have  no  idea  of  the  value  of 


m 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


107 


money.  If  they  see  a  thing  they  fancy,  the  cost 
of  it  has  nothing  to  do  with  it  if  they  want  it. 
I  saw  one  old  fellow  give  thirty  dollars  for  an 
old  American  flag  that  was  worth  not  more  than 
a  couple  of  dollars.  They  always  ask  "  How 
much  ? "  When  you  tell  them  the  price  they 
say:  "I  take  him."  If  you  wish  to  buy  from 
them,  and  they  tell  you  the  price,  they  would 
not  take  off  one  penny  to  make  a  sale. 
Write  when  you  can. 

With  kindest  regards,  etc., 

I  am  your  friend, 

Lex. 

Out  among  the  Bears,  Alaska, 

September  15,  1897. 
My  Dear  little  Freddie: 

I  have  your  interesting  little  letter  before  me 
while  I  write  by  the  light  of  one  candle  in  our 
small  cabin;  and  I  tell  you  one  candle,  Freddie, 
doesn't  give  you  much  light.  But  if  it  takes 
three  hundred  and  sixty-five  candles  to  do  you 
a  year,  and  if  you  burn  more  than  one  a  night, 
how  much  weight  would  you  have  to  carry  ? 
There  is  an  Irishman's  sum  for  you  !    Ask  your 


i.f  i  ■ 


io8 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


papa  if  you  can  do  it  by  algebra  or  by  the  rule 
of  thumb  ?  That  is  something  like  the  riddle  I 
heard  the  other  day,  viz.:  ''  Bean  soup  is  the 
answer;   what  is  the  question  ?  " 

We  have  seen  several  bears,  but  have  been  un- 
able to  get  close  enough  to  get  a  shot  at  them; 
and  that  reminds  me  of  a  little  incident  that  hap- 
pened here  lately.  There  was  a  bear  that  came 
down  every  night  to  make  his  supper  on  one  of 
the  dead  horses  in  the  trail,  and  four  brave  fel- 
lows camped  close  by  thought  they  would  like 
to  kill  him.  So  they  built  a  platform  up  m  a 
clump  of  trees  near  the  dead  horse  during  the 
day,  and  went  back  to  their  cabin  and  played  a 
game  of  cards  to  see  who  would  get  the  bear's 
skin  after  they  had  killed  Bruin.  They  went  to 
the  platform  about  dark,  and  waited,  armed 
with  rifles.  They  almost  quarrelled  as  to 
who  should  have  the  first  shot  at  the  beast 
when  he  came  for  his  supper.  Presently 
Mr.  Bear  put  in  an  appearance,  sniffed  around 
the  horse  awhile,  and  then  spied  the  fel- 
lows up  the  tree.  He  shuffled  over  till  he  got 
under  the  platform,   when  he  gave  an  awful 


"'Hi'l 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


109 


growl.  "  You  shoot  first  !  "  whispered  one. 
**  No,  you  do  it,"  urged  another.  *'  Plant  your 
shot  right  between  his  eyes  !  "  said  a  third;  when 
lo  !  the  brute  gave  another  growl,  louder  and 
more  wicked  than  the  first,  and  looked  up,  clasp- 
ing the  trunk  of  the  tree  with  his  hairy  arms. 
They  all  dropped  their  rifles  and  fell  on  their 
knees  on  the  platform,  beginning  to  pray  with 
all  their  might.  The  bear  went  back  to  the 
horse,  and  they — well,  they  have  never  said  bear 
since  that  day. 

We  killed  a  couple  of  mountain-goats  last 
week  which  made  quite  a  change  in  our  bill  of 
fare.  The  weather,  Fred,  is  pretty  cold  here,  as 
the  mercury  ranges  from  fifteen  to  twenty-five 
below  zero,  and  ice  is  six  feet  thick  on  the 
river. 

If  we  had  you  out  here  I  would  give  you  a 
good  ride  on  a  dog-sled.  You  ought  to  see 
them  go — four  dogs  to  a  sled.  I  hope  you  will 
get  your  foot-ball  team  in  good  shape  and  give 
those  fellows  that  beat  you  before,  a  good  dress- 
ing down.  I  am  very  sorry  about  the  letters  that 
went  to  Dawson  City,  but  perhaps  they  will  ar- 


no 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


rive  here  before  we  start.    Don't  forget  to  write 
again  when  you  get  the  chance. 

Your  sincere 
Lex. 

Camp  Emergency,  Skaguay, 
September  21,  1896. 
Dear  little  Cousin  Nan: 

Your  jolly  little  letter  was  received  with  your 
mamma's,  and  I  could  imagine  I  was  talking 
with  you  by  keeping  my  eye  on  the  pen-sketch 
of  yourself  you  attached  to  it.  It  was  so  strik- 
ing !  I  am  glad  to  hear  of  your  art-studies,  and 
of  Veva's  music  and  language  lessons.  I  am 
afraid,  as  you  say  in  your  letter,  that  after  our 
rough  life  out  here  we  will  be  kind  of  afraid  of 
our  two  stately  and  cultivated  cousins  when  we 
get  back  to  civilized  life  again.  You  will  want 
to  keep  us  in  the  back  yard  and  feed  us  out  of  a 
trough.  But  look  sharp  if  you  do;  for  we  will 
certainly  bite! 

I  wish  you  could  have  seen  the  donkeys,  or 
burros  (as  they  call  them  here),  we  had  when  we 
first  started  on  the  trail.     They  were  the  cutest 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


Ill 


things  you  ever  saw.     One  in  particular  wasn't 
much  larger  than  a  big  Si.  Bernard  dog.  He  was 
a  funny  little  fellow.  You  couldn't  keep  him  tied, 
and  he  would  follow  you  all  around  like  a  dog; 
come  walking  into  the  tent,  pick  up  one  of  your 
boots  and  start  to  chew  it :  then  try  to  get  at  things 
on  the  stove.    These  donkeys  will  eat  anything, 
from  oats  to  a  tin  can.  They  are  like  goats  in  that. 
A  funny  thing  happened  one  night  with  my 
little  pet  while  we  were  on  the  trail.      I  was 
sound  asleep  in  the  middle  of  the  night,  but 
woke  up  suddenly  to  see  something  big  and 
dark   at   the   opening   of   the   tent.      Suppos- 
ing   it    was    the     donkey,     I     yelled  :    "  Get 
out  of  there,  you  son  of  an  Alaska  hurro  ! " 
when  brother  Lee  shouted  from  the  tent-door: 
"  What's  the  matter,  Lex  ?    It's  only  me — only 
I,  I  mean  !      Have  you  got  the  nightmare  ?  " 
"  Nightmare  ?  "  cried  L     "  I  thought  it  was  a 
mghi-donkey  !  "    "  And  you  might  have  made  a 
bigger  mistake,"  said  he. 

Now  laugh,  Nan,  my  darling,  and  show  your 
ignorance — of  a  pun  !  If  I  had  been  coming 
home   I   would   certainly   have   brought   little 


(i 

« 


;!i  t 


112 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


m 


Long-Ears  with  me.  He  was  as  gentle  as  a 
kitten.  One  of  our  men  came  on  here  expecting 
to  have  some  donkeys  or  burros  sent  after  him 
from  Juneau.  They  didn't  come.  Our  friend 
got  impatient.  He  telegraphed  from  Skaguay: 
"  Send  on  the  bureaus  !  "  for  he  didn't  know  how 
to  spell  the  word,  and  went  by  the  sound  of  it. 
The  operator  at  the  other  end  was  a  wag.  He 
wired  back:  "  We  haven't  got  any  bureaus  here, 
but  there's  a  donkey  or  two  ready  to  send  ! " 
Write  me  what  you  think  of  tlmt ! 

Your  cousin, 
Lex. 


HI!  , 
ill: 


In  the  Skaguay  Trail,  Alaska, 
October  2,  1896. 
My  Dear  Aunt  Ellen: 

Lex  has  just  come  back  from  a  two  days'  trip 
to  Skaguay  and  brought  our  mail  into  camp.  It 
was  with  the  greatest  delight  that  we  read  your 
dear  letter,  always  most  welcome,  but  a  hundred 
times  more  so  now.  I  only  hope  you  will  devote 
a  little  spare  time  very  often  during  the  next 
four  months  to  the  same  purpose. 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


"3 


As  to  the  hardships  we  have  endured  since  we 
left  our  home  in  the  East,  of  course  they  have 
been  a  rather  distressing  experience  for  two 
boys  reared  as  tenderly  and  delicately  as  we;  but 
we  are  glad  of  this  severe  ordeal.  It  is  gratify- 
ing even  to  ourselves  to  feel  that  we  have  (under 
God)  the  manliness  and  courage  to  go  through 
all  these  trials;  and  the  sweetest  solace  we  enjoy 
in  our  difficulties  is  the  knowledge  that  we  have 
in  them  the  sympathy  and  prayers  of  the  dear 
ones  at  home. 

We  had  not  the  slightest  idea  that  our  poor 
efforts  at  describing  Alaska,  and  our  life  in 
camp,  etc.,  would  be  so  much  appreciated.  I 
only  wish  it  were  in  my  power  to  reproduce  to 
your  mind's  eye  the  grandeur  and  wonderful 
character  of  the  scenery  in  every  direction  from 
our  camp.  Looking  around  you  here  in  this 
vast  solitude  it  is  brought  right  home  to  you 
what  a  small  atom  man  is  on  the  world's  sur- 
face. The  isolation  and  the  magnificent  scenery 
of  gigantic  mountain  and  fathomless  abyss  bring 
one  very  close  to  God  in  His  sublimest  works. 

I  can  assure  you,  my  dear  Aunt,  that  this  has 


lit 


i;'- 


I' 
1 


114 


A  KLONDIKE  FICNIC. 


been  of  the  greatest  benefit  to  us  both  in  a  spir- 
itual way. 

It  is  like  making  a  grand  spiritual  Retreat  here 
with  Our  Lord  in  the  wilderness. 

We  have  been  touched  to  the  quick  by  the 
description  of  your  recent  illness  and  of  the  ter- 
rible sufferings  you  have  offered  up  for  our  wel- 
fare and  success.  Words  cannot  express  our 
sympathy  with  you,  our  gratitude  to  you  for  the 
kind  offerings  you  made  of  your  almost  insup- 
portable pains.  I  trust  that  the  future  will  prove 
to  you  that  your  prayers  have  been  heard,  and 
that  every  one  of  your  sufferings  has  borne 
heavenly  fruit. 

To  make  a  change  from  "  grave  to  gay,"  I 
must  tell  you  that  our  cooking  department  is 
rapidly  and  steadily  improving.  You  would  be 
surprised  to  see  some  of  the  fine  pastry  I  am 
turning  out  for  my  own  and  Lex's  delight. 

Many  and  many  a  time  I  have  regretted  that 
I  did  not  bring  my  camera  along,  as  I  could  have 
sent  some  very  interesting  pictures  back  to  our 
dear  ones. 

About  two  months  ago  Mr.  S.  took  a  snap- 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


"5 


inap- 


shot  with  his  camera  of  Lex  and  me  com- 
ing down  the  mountain  side  with  our  burros, 
with  packs  and  pack-saddles.  He  sent  it  on  to 
his  paper  for  pubHcation,  but  I  don't  know  if  it 
ever  reached  there.  Our  sturdy  Httle  beasts 
were  loaded  with  our  boat  in  three  sections. 
This  was  the  best-looking  feature  of  the  outfit, 
for,  if  I  remember  rightly  (you  know  there  are 
no  mirrors  here  /),  we  boys  were  hardly  present- 
able. Our  clothes,  from  contact  with  the  rocks, 
water  and  mud,  made  ui^  sorry-looking  figures. 

But  Mr.  S.  was  much  elated  over  the  pic- 
ture; said  it  was  the  most  typical  scene  of  a 
mining  camp  he  was  able  so  far  to  get.  I  am  in 
doubt  as  to  the  exact  time  it  was  taken  (we  are 
like  Robinson  Crusoes  out  here,  and  are  apt 
to  lose  all  reckonings),  or  you  might  get  a  copy 
of  the  paper  and  see  just  how  it  looked. 

When  we  get  in,  dear  Aunt,  we  shall  most  cer- 
tainly look  up  the  priest  you  speak  of,  and  shall 
preserve  your  letter  for  the  purpose  of  introduc- 
tion.   Many  thanks  for  the  suggestion. 

It  is  now  twelve  o'clock  at  night.  Lex 
crawled  into  his  sleeping-bag  an  hour  ago;  and 


ti 


1/! 


4 '.I 


11 


III 


-■w\ 


m 


ii6 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


I 


the  wind  is  howling  and  snow  and  sleet  are 
flying  in  every  direction  outside  our  little 
"  shack."  I  thank  God  we  are  housed  so  snug 
and  warm,  and  for  the  time  being  clear  of  the 
exposures  of  tent-life.  As  I  start  at  six-thirty  to- 
morrow morning  across  the  mountains  to  mail 
this,  I  shall  close,  with  the  hope  that  we  shall 
have  another  letter  from  you  in  the  very  near 
future.  God  bless  you,  my  dear  Aunt,  and  be- 
lieve me  to  be, 

Your  loving  nephew, 

Lee. 

P.S. — Give  mother  and  the  dear  girls  a  good 
big  hug  and  kiss  from  their  two  boys  in  the 
polar  regions. 

Excuse  the  stationery,  etc.    I  have  hard  work 

to  keep  the  pen  from  going  through  the  paper 

at  every  word,  but  this  is  considered  fine — for 

up  here. 

In  Winter  Quarters, 

Twenty  Miles  from  Lake  Bennett, 

Alaska,  Oct.  23,  1896. 
Dear  Folks: 

We  have  an  opportunity  of  sending  this  ofi 

to-morrow  by  a  fellow  who  is  going  up  and  re- 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


"7 


turning.  I  know  you  want  to  know  how  your 
two  ducks  are  doing  up  here  in  the  frozen 
North.  We  have  built  a  log  cabin  ten  by  twelve, 
just  high  enough  to  stand  up  comfortably  in.  We 
dug  it  two  feet  under  ground,  and  then  banked  it 
up  fully  two  feet  around  the  base  on  the  outside. 
We  have  about  two  thousand  pounds  of  pro- 
visions stacked  up  in  one  corner,  which  we  wish 
to  keep  untouched  for  future  use.  Then  we 
have  about  five  hundred  pounds  packed  up  in 
another  corner,  which  we  are  now  using.  We 
have  about  500  lbs.  of  flour,  200  lbs.  of  beans,  150 
of  corn  meal,  100  of  oatmeal,  100  lbs.  of  dried 
fruit,  about  50  lbs.  of  evaporated  potatoes,  100 
lbs.  of  bacon,  25  lbs.  of  coffee,  and  20  lbs.  of  tea, 
besides  butter,  crackers,  etc.,  etc.  We  have 
four  axes,  two  shovels  and  two  gold-pans. 

I  would  like  to  send  you  a  sketch  of  our  cabin, 
if  I  were  artist  enough  to  make  it.  It  would 
astonish  you  if  you  could  take  a  peep  into  it 
and  see  how  nearly  comfortable  (for  out  here) 
we  have  made  ourselves.  We  have  manufact- 
ured cot-beds  out  of  our  discarded  tent  which 
had  done  us  such  good  service  before  we  built 


ii 


ii8 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC, 


our  log  cabin.  Believe  me,  we  considered  that 
we  were  enjoying  a  luxury  when  we  lay  down  on 
them  for  the  first  time.  Hitherto  we  had  been 
obliged  to  rest  on  the  ground:  sometimes  with 
the  water  running  under  our  backs.  Of  course 
we  had  then  a  bed  made  of  the  boughs  and 
branches  of  trees.  We  have  a  small  steel  porta- 
ble heater  about  one  and  a  half  feet  square, 
which  has  such  a  draught  as  to  be  almost  capable 
of  burning  cobble  stones.  We  fill  this  at  night 
before  retiring,  with  green  wood,  let  it  start 
burning  until  well  caught,  and  then  we  turn  off 
the  draughts  and  it  remains  smouldering 
through  the  night.  When  morning  comes  we 
turn  the  draught  oi:  by  a  contrivance  of  our  own 
invention — (a  cord  which  reaches  to  our  cots), 
without  getting  out  of  our  sleeping-bags;  and 
by  the  time  we  wish  to  rise  the  cabin  is  most 
comfortable.  I  spoke  of  our  sleeping-bags. 
These  to  you  must  be  something  new,  but  not  to 
us  poor  pilgrims  out  here  in  the  wilderness. 
Lee  and  I  each  have  three  sleeping-bags  apiece, 
two  of  which  are  made  out  of  the  heaviest  sort 
of  blankets,  and  over  them  is  placed  another 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


119 


very  heavy  canvas  bag.  This  arrangement 
keeps  us  very  comfortable  at  night.  Previous 
to  having  these  bags  it  seemed  impossible  for 
us  to  keep  warm.  The  mercury  has  registered 
about  sixty  degrees  below  on  some  few  days, 
but  at  this  season  it  is  generally  from  twenty-five 
to  thirty-five  degrees  below.  If  the  north  wind 
is  blowing  it  rushes  with  such  fearful  velocity 
that  it  makes  it  seem  as  cold  as  at  sixty  below. 
It  freezes  the  very  breath  on  your  beard  (I  mean 
my  beard,  not  yours  /).  You  will  scarcely  be- 
lieve me  when  I  tell  you  of  the  amount  of  cloth- 
ing which  we  are  obliged  to  wear.  First,  we 
have  each  a  set  of  the  heaviest  woollen  under- 
wear; next,  over  that  a  buckskin  suit;  next, 
over  that  a  blue  flannel  shirt  ;  then  a  heavy 
sweater;  then  a  full  suit  of  canvas  lined  with 
sheepskin.  Could  you  imagine  any  one  with 
such  an  outfit  on  at  once  ?  and  yet  it  is  not  a 
whit  too  much,  I  can  assure  you.  Hoping  to 
hear  from  you  very  soon,  I  am  always  yours, 

Lex. 


iiii 

i:.lliMj 


U<*  '! 


'HI  M 


I20 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


liSvjii 


XIII. 


V  ■ 


\  :^\ 


By  this  time  Aunt  Grace's  eyes  are  so  full  of 
tears  over  her  boys'  hardships  that  she  cannot 
see  to  read.  She  takes  off  her  blurred  glasses 
with  a  little  sob,  and  wiping  them,  begins  to 
look  around  for  the  twins. 

"  What  are  those  children  about  ?  "  she  ex- 
claims.   And  she  may  well  ask. 

Vaisey  and  Tasey  have  long  since  grown  tired 
of  the  reading.  With  Jack  and  Freddie  they 
have  slipped  under  the  netting  and  taken  to 
playing  soldiers  over  by  the  Yukon.  Jack,  hav- 
ing hunted  up  all  the  military  traps  from  the 
tent,  has  divided  the  stores,  giving  Vaisey  a 
drum  and  Freddie  an  American  flag,  but  keep- 
ing the  musket  for  himself.  They  have  had  a 
drill  which  would  have  been  delightful  if  it  had 
not  left  poor  Tasey  out  in  the  cold.  And  now 
they  have  just  marched  to  fight  for  Cuba,  when 


«fl 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


121 


they  discover  Tasey  confiscating  the  baggage- 
wagons  in  revenge.  They  all  pounce  down 
upon  the  infant  Weyler,  and  then  the  lookers-on 
in  the  Klondike  see  that  Tasey  deserves  all 
praise  for  his  ingenuity  and  grit.  He  has  found 
two  small  soap-boxes  in  the  tent,  and  to  each 
he  has  harnessed  a  poodle.  In  Bute's  wagon  sits 
Speckle,  reserved  and  dignified,  with  all  the  con- 
scious pride  of  an  F.  F.  B.  In  Cute's  sits  dear 
big,  fluffy,  golden  Buttercup,  whose  feathers 
overflow  the  box  as  she  clucks  contentedly  in 
her  chariot.  The  little  teams  are  so  entrancing 
to  behold  thai.  Captain  Jack's  soldiers  renounce 
Cuba  on  the  spot  and  proceed  to  make  terms 
with  Commissary  Tasey.  Vaisey  drops  his  drum 
and  seizes  Bute's  guiding-reins.  Tasey  grasps 
Cute's  more  firmly.  The  musket  and  Jack,  and 
the  American  flag  with  Fred  attached,  fall  into 
line,  and  away  goes  the  triumphant  parade. 

But  alas  !  and  alas  !  "  many  a  merry  going 
forth  maketh  a  sorrowful  coming  home."  There 
is  a  snake  in  the  grass;  or,  to  speak  more  cor- 
rectly, there  are  two  crabs  in  the  grass — the 
two  live  crabs  that  escaped  from  the  creel  some 


I,-  ■ 


pf 

^ 


'3  . 


*i 


1    !:,! 


122 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


hours  back.  Do  you  remember  the  crawling 
creatures  that  got  off  to  the  bit  of  salt  marsh 
when  Vaisey  poked  the  seaweed  with  his 
stick  ? 

Well,  here  they  are,  still  wriggling  in  the 
grass.  There  are  some  cool  little  hollows  in  the 
sand,  with  a  cupful  or  so  of  brackish  water,  and 
our  two  hard-shell  Baptists  have  been  enjoying 
their  dip  all  this  time  and  soaking  in  the  shady 
pools. 

Right  in  their  way  come  the  twins  with  their 
rival  teams.  Bute  is  straining  his  skin  until  he 
looks  like  an  over-boiled  pudding.  Cute  is  hold- 
ing his  own  with  his  apoplectic  eyes  popping  out 
of  their  sockets.  The  twins  are  boldly  un- 
suspecting, and  the  rear  guard  audaciously  care- 
less. Truth  is  stranger  than  fiction,  and  our 
readers  will  scarcely  believe  that,  in  less  time 
than  it  takes  to  tell  it,  a  crab  in  ambush  has 
sunk  his  sharp  claws  into  the  plump  hind  legs  of 
each  poodle;  and  off  tears  the  mad  array  of  dogs, 
crabs,  chickens  and  twins,  yelping,  hissing, 
clucking,  and  howling  like  mad.  A  pack  of 
Eskimo  do£-s  could  not  make  a  more  heart- 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


123 


rending  uproar,  and  the  chariot  race  in  "  Ben 
Hur  "  wouldn't  be  a  snuff  to  this  runaway. 

Aunt  Grace  screams  in  sympathy,  and  makes 
a  feeble  attempt  to  follow.  But  Father  Edwards 
quiets  and  restrains  her. 

"  Don't  worry,  Mrs.  Kirke,"  says  he  with  a 
quiet  laugh,  "  the  boys  will  come  out  all  right — 
boys  always  do.  If  they  get  a  tumble  and  a 
scratch  or  two  it  won't  hurt  them.  The  best 
men  are  those  who  were  not  coddled  when 
young." 

"  I'll  look  after  the  kids,  Aunt  Grace,"  says 
Herbert,  who  sees  she  is  still  fretting  about  her 
babies;  and  he  and  Allen  and  Phil  stroll  off 
laughing,  to  search  for  the  charioteers. 
They  find  them  in  a  very  sorry  plight. 
Vaisey  has  fallen  into  Lake  Tagish,  Tasey  into 
Lake  Bennett,  and  the  poodles  and  the  crabs, 
still  closely  united,  are  dragged  at  last  out  of 
Lake  Linderman. 

It  takes  a  good  deal  of  skill  and  nerve  to  re- 
store poor  Bute  and  Cute  to  the  undisputed  pos- 
session of  their  wounded  hind-legs:  but  a  good- 
sized  stick  does  the  business;  and  then  Speckle 


M 


124 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC, 


and  Buttercup  are  discovered  unhurt,  taking  a 
sand-bath  by  the  roadside. 

**  I'm  ashamed  of  you,  Jack,"  says  Herbert, 
with  the  eldest  brother's  privilege;  "a  big, 
strong  fellow  like  you  not  able  to  take  better 
care  of  these  poor  little  kids  !  " 

"  How  was  I  to  know  that  those  confounded 
crabs  were  in  the  grass  ?  "  grumbles  Jack  as  he 
helps  his  brothers  to  shake  and  straighten  out 
the  twins'  clothing  and  wipe  off  with  his  hand- 
kerchief the  water  and  sand  from  their  pretty 
little  doleful  faces. 

"  Come  along,  all  of  you,"  orders  Bert  with 
dignity.  "  We've  got  our  camera  in  the  tent, 
and  Father  Edwards  is  going  to  get  it  out  and 
take  us  all  in  a  picture  !  " 

"Hurry  up!"  cries  Phil;  and  leaving  the 
crabs  and  the  battered  baggage-wagons  behind 
them,  the  runaways  pluck  up  courage  and  fol- 
low their  gallant  rescuers  back  to  the  fairy 
bower. 

Aunt  Grace  rushes  to  meet  her  daipaged  dar- 
lings, catches  them  up  in  turn  and  half  smothers 
them  with  hugs  and  kisses  before  she  discovers 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC, 


125 


that  their  shirt-fronts  are  wet  and  their  round 
faces  dirty.  When  off  she  posts  with  them  to 
the  tent  and  scrubs  them  up  and  combs  them 
down,  and  with  a  mother's  love  and  ready  tact 
manages  to  produce  them  in  a  little  while  clean 
and  dry,  and  cheerfully  prepared  for  the  next  ad- 
venture, good  or  bad. 

She  is  just  in  time  to  take  her  place  with  the 
twins  in  the  group  forming  for  the  picture. 

Father  Edwards  is  setting  the  camera  in  place, 
and  Miss  Elliott  is  going  about  among  the  party 
putting  the  sitters  into  position. 

She  has  arranged  Mrs.  Arthur  Kirke  as  the 
central  figure,  and  that  lady  now  makes  room 
beside  her  for  Aunt  Grace.  Veva  and  Nan  take 
their  places  on  the  right,  Jeannie  and  Olive  on 
the  left. 

"  Nan,"  says  Margaret,  "  you  had  better  hold 
Buttercup,  and  Veva,  Speckle.  Olive,  get  your 
mandolin.  Jeannie  will  do  very  well  with  that 
large  garden  hat  in  her  hand.  Here  is  a  soft 
rug  for  Vaisey  and  Tasey  at  mamma's  feet,  and 
the  poodles  can  curl  up  there  beside  them." 

"  Hadn't  Bert  better  pose  with  his  violin,  and 


I,-..  ; 
I 


■.'.r^A 


I 

i 

I 
■'■'■ 

i: 

• 

ll.l 


f :  I 


126 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


Allen  with  the  banjo  ?  "  says  Jeannie,  as  she 
dangles  her  great  dark  hat  against  the  lovely 
folds  of  her  scarlet  organdie. 

"Yes,"  replies  the  directress;  "and  if  Jack 
holds  the  musket,  and  Fred  the  drum,  Phil  may 
pretend  to  play  on  his  mouth-organ.  Now, 
back  to  your  places,  all  of  you  boys,"  adds  Mar- 
garet, "  and  stand  behind  the  ladies'  chairs  !  " 

"  Please  pose  here  at  the  right.  Miss  Elliott," 
says  the  priest,  "  and  have  the  kindness  to  tilt 
this  crab-net  across  your  shoulder — so  !  At- 
tention, little  people  !  One — two — three — 
ready,  all  hands  !  " 

In  the  flash  of  an  eye  the  thing  is  done. 
And  well  done,  too,  as  it  transpires  later — save 
for  a  mosquito  that  lights  on  Philip's  nose  at  the 
critical  moment,  making  him  more  cross-eyed 
than  usual,  and  the  broad  grin  that  distorts 
Jack's  face,  in  consequence,  from  ear  to  ear.  He 
has  never  been  "taken"  before, and  he  has  vainly 
expected  some  one  to  tell  him  in  advance  the 
precise  minute  at  which  to  look  serious,  but 
the  moment  has  come  and  gone,  leaving  be- 
hind it  a  grotesque  image  of  Phil,  and  an  im- 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


127 


>> 


the 
yed 
orts 
He 
inly 
the 
but 
be- 
im- 


pression  of  Jack  which  Miss  Elliott  dubs  in 
French,  "  le  gargon  qui  rit." 

"  The  last  picture  I  made,"  says  Father  Ed- 
wards, after  laying  aside  the  photograph  for 
future  development,  "  was  that  of  little  Ray- 
mond Stanhope.  Dear  little  Raymond  Stan- 
hope !  "  and  the  priest's  fine  eyes  grow  misty 
and  full  of  dreamy  thought. 

"  Is  he  dead  ? "  question  the  girls  with  in- 
terest. 

"  I  know  not  if  he  be  dead  or  alive,"  is  the 
reply;  "  yet  I  trust  God  has  him  in  His  keeping 
wherever  he  may  be.  Let  me  tell  you  about 
him,"  says  Father  Edwards,  seating  himself  be- 
fore them.  "  When  I  was  an  assistant  on  my 
first  mission  I  had  charge  of  a  select  school  for 
young  boys  taught  by  the  good  Sisters  of 
Mercy.  The  first  time  I  visited  the  classes  Sister 
Innocentia  pointed  out  to  me  a  little  boy  of 
seven  who  had  just  entered  the  school.  He  was 
not  what  is  called  a  pretty  child,  but  his  face  was 
bright  and  earnest.  His  golden  hair,  soft  and 
silky,  fell  in  love-locks  around  his  face  and  in 
thick,  waving  curls  upon  his  shoulders.    His 


|Pi;i 


p    1;' 


m-- 


128 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


t 


K 


i 


Q.> 


iittle  form,  straight  as  an  arrow,  was  set  off  to 
the  best  advantage  by  a  dainty  jacket  and 
knickerbockers  of  black  velvet,  with  a  big  white 
lace  collar  and  wrist-ruffles.  His  name  was  Ray- 
mond Stanhope,  and  the  previous  summer  vaca- 
tion he  had  spent  in  Europe  with  his  parents, 
whose  only  child  he  was.  In  England,  and  also 
on  the  voyage,  he  had  been  praised  and  petted 
as  a  genuine  little  Lord  Faimtleroy.  *  Indeed,' 
said  Sister  Innocentia,  *  every  visitor  to  the 
school  exclaims  at  seeing  him:  "There  is  little 
Lord  Faimtleroy  ! "  One  might  expect  to  find 
him  a  spoiled  child,'  the  Sister  went  on  to  say, 
*  but  he  is  nothing  of  the  sort.  He  is  a  faithful 
little  scholar,  always  eager  with  offers  of  service 
in  small  ways,  before  and  after  school.  He  is 
especially  attentive  to  religious  instruction,  and 
last  week,  when  the  children  who  have  not  yet 
been  admitted  to  holy  communion,  made  their 
quarterly  confession,  Raymond  paid  the  strictest 
attention  to  all  that  was  said  to  prepare  him  for 
that  Holy  Sacrament,  and  asked  questions  of 
Sister  which  showed  the  careful  devotion  of  his 
heart.     Last   spring,'   continued   Sister   Inno- 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


129 


"their 
:test 
for 
J  of 
If  his 


Inno- 


centia,  *  his  parents  took  him  to  Washington  to 
witness  the  inauguration  of  President  Harrison. 
After  that  ceremony  the  Stanhopes  were  intro- 
duced to  the  President,  when  he  placed  his  hand 
on  Raymond's  head  and  expressed  the  hope  that 
the  httle  boy  would  grow  up  into  a  good  man, 
and  that  God  would  always  bless  him.  It  was 
after  the  return  of  the  party  from  Washington 
that  Mother  Francis  began  the  instructions  for 
the  June  confessions.  Raymond  was  most  at- 
tentive. He  had  a  cousin  two  or  three  years 
older  than  he.  He  was  motherless,  and  very 
delicate,  and  a  public  school  pupil.  Raymond 
watched  over  this  child  with  great  care,  and 
sometimes  brought  him  with  him  to  our  school. 
A  little  while  before  the  June  confessions  Ray- 
mond asked  Mother  Francis  if  his  cousin  might 
not  come  and  receive  instructions  with  the 
others.  Mother  replied  that  she  feared  our 
children  were  too  far  advanced  for  him,  and  that 
he  had  better  wait  until  the  next  time — three 
months  from  that  date.  Raymond  went  back 
to  his  seat,  but  Mother  saw  that  he  was  uneasy, 
that  his  mind  was  taken  up  with  the  thought  of 


m 


i 


130 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


tf 


li 


^f 


his  cousin.  Several  times  afterwards  he  returned 
to  the  subject,  and  asked  permission  to  bring 
the  stranger-boy  to  the  instructions.  Each  time 
it  grew  harder  for  Mother  Francis  to  say  that  he 
had  better  wait.  At  last  one  day  the  brave  little 
fellow  marched  up  to  Mother's  desk  in  school 
hours,  and  looking  gravely  at  her  with  his  clear, 
bright  eyes,  said:  "  Can  nothing  be  done  for  my 
cousin.  Mother  Francis  ?  '*  This  settled  it,' 
said  Sister  Innocentia.  *  Although  the  child  did 
not  belong  to  our  school,  and  the  confession  did 
not  seem  necessary,  Mother  told  Raymond  to 
bring  him  down  to  the  convent  after  school  each 
evening  and  she  would  prepare  him  for  the 
sacrament.  This  our  little  Lord  Fauntleroy 
did  with  a  joy  and  diligence  that  were  absolutely 
admirable  to  behold.  He  would  wait  each  day 
in  the  yard,  or  in  his  seat  in  the  class-room,  until 
his  cousin  was  through  with  the  instructions, 
and  then  they  would  run  off  home  happily  to- 
gether. The  invalid  cousin  made  his  confession, 
and,  strange  to  say,  only  a  few  days  after  was 
found  in  a  fit  one  morning  in  his  bed.  He  never 
recovered  from  that  convulsion.     It  ended  his 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


131 


little  life  in  two  or  three  hours.  Mother  Francis 
and  the  Sisters  were  all  deeply  moved  by  this 
incident.  They  began  to  look  upon  Raymond 
almost  with  reverence,  for  God  had  made  use 
of  that  dear,  sweet  child  as  the  instrument  of 
His  grace  to  the  soul  of  the  dead  boy.  Is  it  not 
lovely,  Father,'  concluded  Sister  Innocentia — 
'  is  it  not  lovely  to  know  that  Raymond  Stan- 
hope will  carry  with  him  his  whole  life  long  the 
grace  of  his  cousin's  prayers  ?  '  " 

There  is  a  brief  silence.  Father  Edwards 
gazes  out  over  the  sea  with  the  same  dreamy 
look  he  wore  when  he  first  mentioned  Ray- 
mond's name.  Tears  are  in  the  eyes  of  the  girls. 
Even  the  boys  are  moved  by  the  story;  but  they 
do  not  want  to  show  it. 

At  a  signal  from  Mrs.  Arthur  Kirke  the  musi- 
cal instruments  all  sound  forth  in  sweet  har- 
mony, and  the  children  rejoice  to  sing  together 
their  May  hymn  to  Our  Lady  of  Light: 


"When  the  clouds  of  sin,  obscuring, 
O'er  our  pathway  meet, 
When  temptation's  snares,  alhiring, 
Darken  round  our  feet, 


'ilt 


ail' 


n 


|r-^ 


■w 


132 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 

If  we  pray  thee,  Mother  tender, 

Ever  near,  thou  art ; 
Cloud  and  snare  thou  turns't  to  splendor. 

Sunshine  of  the  heart ! 

"  When  the  shadows  of  aflaiction 

All  our  hopes  destroy, 
And  we  miss  the  benediction 

Of  a  by-gone  joy ; 
Mother,  round  thy  feet  we  cluster 

Till  the  shades  depart ; 
Grief  is  lost  in  thy  fair  lustre. 

Sunshine  of  the  heart ! " 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


133 


XIV. 

Tea  having  been  made  by  Miss  Elliott  and 
handed  around  by  Veva  and  Nan,  Vaisey  falls 
asleep  in  Jeannie's  lap,  and  Tasey,  in  Olive's. 
The  great  heat  of  the  day  is  over.  A  delicious 
breeze  blows  from  the  sea,  and  sweet  peace  de- 
scends, like  a  gentle  dew,  upon  all  our  hot  and 
tired  picnickers. 

"  Before  our  Klondike  picnic  is  at  an  end," 
says  Father  Edwards,  "please  let  us  hear  the 
conclusion  of  the  Alaskan  letters." 

And  Aunt  Grace,  drawing  forth  from  her  bag 
for  the  third  and  last  time  the  precious  packet, 
gives  a  tender,  motherly  glance  at  her  sleeping 
twins  and  begins  again  to  read  the  records  of 
the  gold-seekers  of  the  Skaguay. 

Skaguay,  Alaska, 
Oct.  26,  1896. 
My  Dear  Cousin  Margaret: 

I  came  over  the  mountain  day  before  yester- 


•il!l« 


134 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


,*?■ 


81    ■*■ 


day  to  get  my  mail  and  to  answer  letters  from 
mother  and  Veva,  also  from  Aunt  Nellie,  in- 
tending to  return  early  this  morning;  but  on 
awakening  we  found  it  impossible  to  cross  the 
summit,  owing  to  a  blizzard  having  sprung  up 
during  the  night;  luckily  this  delayed  me  until 
the  arrival  of  the  little  steamer  Alki  from 
Juneau,  with  your  welcome  letters  on  board, 
also  books  and  papers  which,  my  dear  cousin,  I 
assure  you,  are  veritable  godsends,  as  those  are 
articles  which  we  rarely  see  out  in  this  wilder- 
ness. 

Why,  you  dear  Madge,  I  would  give  the 
world,  almost,  were  you  with  us,  more  es- 
pecially for  your  cheery  good-humor  and  your 
"  fancy  cooking."  You  would  be  surprised, 
though,  to  find  how  it  brings  one  out  in  this 
line  (not  meaning  "  to  blow  my  own  horn  "). 
I'm  becoming  quite  a  cook;  but  in  point  of  fact, 
life  in  this  wilderness  brings  one  out  in  many 
ways,  as  you  must  depend  entirely  upon  your 
ow-n  resources,  and  it's  surprising  how  often 
they  are  called  upon.  So  far  we  have  providen- 
tially surmounted  them  all;  but  we  cannot,  at 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


135 


this  writing,  count  on  the  future.  Up  to  the 
present  time,  however,  as  I  say,  we  have  held 
our  end  up  with  the  hardiest  of  them. 

There  were  two  women  started  in  over  this 
trail.  Of  course  they  carried  nothing,  hav- 
ing plenty  of  money  (their  intention  being  to 
start  a  bank  at  Dawson  City),  but  they  soon 
gave  up  and  returned  to  Chicago.  It  was  fool- 
ish for  them  to  start. 

We  have  every  hope  in  the  world  of  making 
a  rich  strike  when  we  reach  the  gold  fields; 
as  we  hear  occasionally  of  wonderful  finds  in 
every  direction.  There  isn't  the  slightest  doubt 
of  this  whole  country  being  full  of  gold,  but, 
Great  Scott  !  it's  hard  to  get  back  at  it. 

It  seems  so  aggravating  to  know  that,  had 
we  not  had  to  pack  our  two  tons  of  provisions, 
etc.,  with  us  we  could  have  been  in  the  mines 
two  months  ago;  and  yet  to  go  without  them 
was  certain  death. 

There  isn't  the  slightest  doubt  but  what  they 
are  starving  in  Dawson  to-day,  as  they  have 
been  utterly  unable  to  get  provisions  there;  but 
I  suppose  the  papers  give  you  this  information. 


iiii 


:* 


m 


M 


136 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


Your  calendar  came  in  like  an  angel  of  comfort, 
for  it's  something  we  have  wanted  for  a  long 
time.  We  often  fail  to  know  the  day  of  the 
week,  and  often  have  a  discussion  as  to  the  day 
of  the  month.  I  think  this  is  dated  somewhere 
within  a  day  or  two  of  the  right  time. 

It  seems  funny  to  hear  you  mention  "  wheels.^* 
Why,  I  had  almost  forgotten  what  a  bicycle 
looks  like;  but  my  !  wouldn't  I  enjoy  a  good 
ride  through  the  Park  ? 

We  look  forward  to  going  home  in  the  near 
future  with  a  big  strike.  What  a  wonderful 
thing  is  money  !  We  have  seen  men  in  this  trail 
who,  when  they  arrived,  looked  like  gentlemen; 
but  oh  !  in  about  a  week  they  developed  into 
downright  brutes  in  their  struggle  to  reach  the 
Land  of  Promise,  caring  for  nothing,  themselves 
included,  until  one  begins  to  think  that  human 
life  is  at  a  discount.  Why,  it  has  been  quite  an 
ordinary  thing  to  see  men  lie  right  down  to 
sleep  on  the  rocks  in  the  rain  after  having  put 
their  horses  in  their  tents,  because  the  horse 
would  die  of  exposure  !  Poor,  deluded  fellows  ! 
some  have  been  obliged  to  go  back  complete 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


^Z7 


wrecks,  who,  on  their  first  coming,  were  in  per- 
fect health.  Others,  again,  would  really  amuse 
you— fellows  out  with  a  pack  of  perhaps  thirty 
to  forty  pounds,  men  who  have  never  before 
carried  a  bundle.  They  go  the  first  three  miles, 
pretty  level,  strike  the  foot  of  the  first  mountain, 
perhaps  go  up  a  couple  of  hundred  yards,  look 
up  at  the  top  (one  thousand  feet  away,  maybe), 
sit  down  on  a  rock,  and  finally  throw  the  pack 
in  the  trail,  and — off  they  go.  You  never  see 
them  again,  as  they  return  disgusted  to  civiliza- 
tion. There  are  many  funny  things  occurring, 
if  one  were  not  too  tired  to  appreciate  them. 

Now,  my  dear,  I  trust  you  will  drop  us  a  line 
as  often  as  possible;  even  if  we  do  not  get  the 
letters  for  several  weeks,  they  are  worth  their 
weight  in  gold  when  they  do  come. 
.    Kindest  regards  to  all. 

Yours, 

Lee. 

P.S. — ^We  had  a  sick  man  staying  with  us  a 
few  nights  ago,  completely  used  up  with  over- 
work and  coarse  food.     We  met  him  on  the 


ill! 


if. 


138 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC, 


|-' 


.if:         ^ 


l»'l 


J 


!<'  ! 


^r 


steamer  coming  up,  and  a  finer-looking  fellow 
you  never  saw.  When  he  struck  our  cabin  the 
other  night,  he  was  a  wreck — literally  fell  into 
the  door.  He  had  walked  all  the  way  from  the 
summit.  His  partner  was  with  him — a  doctor — 
and  he  was  taking  him  back  to  New  York  via 
Skaguay.  The  poor  fellow  had  told  him  on  the 
summit  that  if  he  could  only  get  to  our  shack 
he  knew  we  would  take  care  of  him.  The  worst 
of  it  is,  he  thinks  he  is  going  to  get  well  East, 
and  then  return  here  in  the  spring.  But  the 
doctor  says  his  lungs  are  affected,  and  he'll  never 
come  back  to  the  Klondike  again.  He'll  go  a 
longer  and  a  sadder  journey.  Pray  for  us  all  ! 
These  experiences  show  us  how  uncertain  life 
is,  and  how  forlorn  a  place  this  is  to  be  sick  and 
die  in. 

Camp  Emergency,  Skaguay  Trail, 
Alaska,  Nov.  26,  1896. 
Dearest  Mother  and  Folks: 

We  cannot  tell  you  with  what  joy  we  received 
and  read  your  letters  from  "  home,  sweet 
home."  We  have  read  them  over  and  over  again 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


139 


until  we  know  them  by  heart.  We  are  fourteen 
miles  from  Skaguay.  Just  think  how  much  we 
must  long  to  hear  from  you  all,  when  we  walk 
that  distance  back  and  forth,  through  four- 
teen miles  of  horrible  mud,  dead  horses,  rapids 
and  precipices  (it  takes  two  days  in  all),  to 
get  your  letters  and  to  send  our  answers  ! 
The  mail  charges  are  very  high  here  ;  there 
is  no  U.  S.  Post-ofHce  here  yet,  although  one  has 
been  arranged  for.  The  man  who  is  running  the 
mail  office  now  charges  five  cents  extra  on  every 
letter  coming  in  and  going  out,  which  is  pretty 
expensive  for  poor  men.  When  we  first  came 
through  Skaguay  in  September  it  was  a  city  of 
tents.  Now  the  town  is  quite  built  up — whole 
streets  of  houses,  theatres,  saloons,  gambling 
dens — everything,  alas  !   but — churches. 

I  will  mail  this  to  you  to-morrow,  as  I  have  to 
go  over  to  Skaguay  then  to  buy  some  tar-paper 
to  line  the  roof  of  our  cabin  with.  We  found  it 
leaking  badly  during  a  heavy  rain  when  we  wak- 
ened in  the  middle  of  the  night;  and  what  was 
worse,  we  just  had  to  grin  and  bear  it,  as  we  had 
nothing  available  with  which  to  stop  the  leak. 


\l  ' 


11  i 


!:|: 


•}ViM 


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j:.-' 

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il: 

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i: 

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i'^' '' ' 

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Rpianl^ 

m/m 

1 

140 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


Since  writing  the  above  I  was  obliged  to  stop, 
and  I  now  resume  my  letter.  We  have  been  to 
Skaguay  and  back,  but  I  assure  you  I  do  not 
want  such  a  journey  again,  for  a  while  at  least. 
When  returning,  darkness  overtook  us,  and  for 
several  hours  we  were  forced  to  plough  our  way 
over  this  most  terrible  Pass,  scarcely  able  to  see 
our  hand  before  us.  More  terrible  still,  we  heard 
that  day  that  three  enormous  grizzly  bears  had 
been  seen  on  the  trail.  You  will  believe  me 
when  I  tell  you  we  were  two  of  the  deadest  fel- 
lows you  ever  saw  by  the  time  we  reached  our 
shack  (that  is  what  they  call  the  cabin  out 
here).  These  grizzly  bears  of  which  I  speak  are 
so  ferocious  that  even  the  old  hunters  will  not 
hunt  them.  You  can  imagine  our  feelings  when 
we  were  groping  our  way  in  the  darkness, 
with  the  dread  of  meeting  these  monsters.  At 
times  we  would  be  knee-deep  in  mud,  then  over 
rocks  and  then  through  water,  etc.  I  will  be 
willing  to  swear  that  never  again  will  we  be 
caught  in  such  a  fix.  We  expect  to  remain  here 
until  some  time  in  February,  when  the  ice  is 
so  firm  that  it  will  bear  a  yoke  of  oxen.    We  will 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


141 


then  start  over  the  lakes.    We  look  back  now 
at  the  terrible  experience  of  the  past,  and  it 
seems  to  us  like  some  dreadful  nightmare.    The 
dangers  and  terrors  through  which  we  have  been 
obliged  to  travel  have  made  us  blind  to  the  su- 
per!) grandeur  of  the  scenery.     We  have  been 
obliged  to  keep  our  eyes  and  ears  glued  to  this 
frightful  trail,  where  one  misstep  meant  either 
to  break  an  arm  or  a  leg,  or  even  worse — to  be 
hurled  to  a  cruel  death  !    We  have,  however, 
survived  it  all,  through  the  mercy  of  God.    And 
we  trust  in  Him  to  extend  the  same  merciful 
care  over  us  in  our  future  trials.     You  cannot, 
by  any  stretch  of  your  imagination,  realize  what 
a   trip    through    this    vast    wilderness    means. 
Climb  one  of  these  mountains  as  we  have  done, 
twelve  thousand  feet  high,  starting  at  the  base: 
first  through  heavy  underbrush,  jumping  from 
rock  to  rock  at  an  angle  of  sixty  degrees,  for 
perhaps  one  thousand  feet,  to  timber  line;  then 
up  an  almost  perpendicular  rock-slide,  skirting 
precipices,  mountain  torrents,  over  the  rocks, 
with  a  soft  bed  of  moss  perhaps  eight  to  ten  feet 
deep;  thence  to  the  summit — a  trip  consuming 


H 


!l 


H 


'm 


142 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


'^'^ 


^'<m-^i*' 


from  four  to  six  hours,  part  of  which  you  are 
sometimes  passing  through  snow  up  to  your 
waist.  Then  you  look  around  you  and  see  what 
a  view  you  behold  !  Mountains,  mountains, 
mountains  on  all  sides — some  running  up  to  the 
clouds  ;  snow-storms  raging  wherever  you 
turn.  We  thought  when  we  reached  the  sum- 
mit of  tlie  one  on  which  we  stood  that  we  had 
gotten  to  the  top  of  it;  but  we  found  that  we 
had  only  commenced  to  ascend.  I  assure  you, 
such  a  situation  as  this  makes  you  realize  what 
an  atom  you  are  in  God's  creation. 

To  change  the  subject,  I  must  tell  you  that 
we  have  learned  something  about  cooking  since 
you  last  saw  us.  It  would  surprise  you  could  you 
but  see  the  fine  apple,  peach,  plum  and  raisin 
pies  that  I  can  now  make.  Also,  I  am  quite 
proficient  in  cooking  Boston  baked  beans,  to  say 
nothing  of  the  fine  buckwheat  cakes  which  we 
make  (and  put  away  any  quantity  of),  covered 
with  maple  syrup.  We  are,  however,  forced  to 
be  very  saving  of  our  stuff,  as  we  do  not  know 
what  emergency  may  be  forthcoming.  We  have 
with  us  a  doctor  from  the  state  of  Washington, 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


143 


who  will  start  with  us  over  the  lakes  in  February, 
and  who  has  friends  already  out  on  the  Stewart 
River.  They  report  a  fabulous  find  there.  Let 
us  hope  that  such  luck  is  awaiting  us,  and  be 
sure  that  if  such  is  the  case  you,  my  dear  ones, 
will  be  the  first  to  hear  of  it. 

Hoping  to  get  some  letters  from  you  when  I 
go  over  to  Skaguay  to  mail  this,  I  am,  as  always, 

Yours  affectionately. 

Lex. 


*  t 


n 


144 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


M 


»:•;; 


I/ 


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jTFP 


'.I  /'I 


\/f} 


XV. 

In  the  Skaguay  Trail,  Alaska, 
December  i,  1896. 
Dear  Uncle  Arthur: 

We  are  quite  comfortable  in  our  shack.  It 
is  a  dandy  place  compared  to  a  tent.  The  last 
camping-place  we  had  before  we  built  our  cabin 
was  on  a  large  flat  rock  about  three  feet  above 
the  river,  with  nice  dry  sand,  like  seashore  sand. 
We  thought  it  was  elegant;  but  the  day  after  we 
got  everything  fixed  it  started  in  for  a  three  or 
four  days*  steady  rain.  T"'  ^sequence  was 
we  were  routed  out  at  ight  with  the  river 

running  up  over  our  rock.  The  water  was  three 
feet  deep  over  it  before  another  day  was  past. 
It  was  no  fun  to  have  to  pull  up  stakes  and  hunt 
a  new  camp  at  twelve  o'clock  at  night,  and  it 
raining  like  smoke.  But  such  is  life  in  this  glo- 
rious land  of  Alaska. 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


M5 


aska, 


ck.  It 
:he  last 
ir  cabin 
t  above 
re  sand, 
ifter  we 
hree  or 
ice  was 
he  river 
as  three 
as  past, 
nd  hunt 
,  and  it 
this  glo- 


We  are  chafing  every  day  that  goes  by  at  the 
unavoidable  delay  caused  by  the  conditions  of 
the  trail.     You  can  form  no  idea  of  what  a 
wild,  weird  and  barren  country  this  part  of  the 
globe  is;  and  a  man  must  needs  keep  all  his  wits 
about  him,  and   exercise  good  judgment,  or 
he  may  be  led  into  the  greatest  dangers  and 
difficulties.    Your  outfit  of  food  and  clothing  is 
worth  everything  to  you— money  scarcely  any- 
thing.    We  realized  this  long  ago,  and  have 
profited  by  it.     We  are  now  housed  very  com- 
fortably (for  here)  and  have  a  very  good  outfit, 
which  will  last  us,  with  care,  until  we  start  in 
over  the  ice  about  February  ist,  and  leave  us 
enough  for  one  year's  prospecting. 

It  is  pitiable  to  see  the  numbers  who  have 
turned  back,  disheartened,  disgusted,  and  penni- 
less; and  the  trail  is  strewn  with  abandoned 
provisions  of  all  kinds,  most  of  it  utterly  ruined, 
lying  just  where  it  has  been  thrown.  Yet  the 
feeling  seems  so  strong  against  any  one  touching 
another  man's  outfit,  that  stuff  that  could  be  util- 
ized you  dare  not  take  lest  the  owner  may  come 
back  looking  for  it  in  the  spring.      There  are 


146 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


»tj 


quite  a  number  of  men  who  have  gone  back  to 
their  homes  with  the  intention  of  coming  up  in 
the  spring,  having  put  their  outfits  in  a  caglie; 
but  a  trip  over  the  trail  as  far  as  the  summit 
will  easily  show  one  how  vain  the  hope  is  to  ever 
locate  these  goods  ?gain.  The  snow,  even  at 
this  early  date,  has,  in  most  cases,  obliterated 
all  signs  of  where  they  are.  It  is  figured  here 
that  at  least  one  million  dollars  has  been  thrown 
away  this  fall  on  this  trail  alone,  in  provisions, 
horses,  and  labor,  in  the  effort  to  reach  the 
gold  fields.  Of  the  very  few  who  have  started 
down  the  lakes  (as  far  as  we  can  find  out  here), 
about  two  hundred  must  have  been  wrecked  at 
White  Horse  Rapids  (the  most  dangerous  trip), 
or  have  been  compelled  to  abandon  the  most  of 
their  outfits,  working  for  Dawson  City,  with 
possibly  one  hundred  and  fifty  to  three  hundred 
pounds  of  provisions,  to  take  their  chances  of 
starvation  and  the  black  vomit  (which  is  another 
terror  they  are  likely  to  have  added  to  their 
troubles).  So  we  content  ourselves  as  best  we 
can  with  our  delay  here,  and  feel  that  we  have 
used  good  judgment. 


■■ 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


14/ 


The  other  day  was  Lex's  birthday,  so  we 
thought  we'd  have  a  ''  spread."  We  asked  in  a 
few  of  the  fellows,  and  here  is  the  dinner  I 
cooked,  and  Lex  set  before  them.  Talk  about 
your  Paris  cooking  after  this  !  It  was  a  course 
dinner — ahem  ! 

M£nu  Klondike. 
Bean  Soup  (nary  Slouch). 
Fresh  Baked  Salmon  (a  la  Frenchie). 
Roast  Grouse  (k  la  Samee). 
Fried  Potatoes  (h  la  Onions). 
Baked  Beans  {k  la  Boston). 
Bread.  pi^s. 

Pop-overs  (Wheat).  Apple. 

Biscuits  (Graham).  Peach. 

Cheese.     Coffee  and  Tea. 

Wasn't  that  a  royal  lay-out  ?  We  drank  all 
your  healths  in  coffee,  and  then  told  yarns  till 
our  lamp  went  out. 

We  intend  going  right  at  mining  as  soon  as 
we  reach  our  destination.  We  feel  fully  able  to 
do  this,  as  we  are  both,  to  use  a  common  ex- 
pression, as  hard  as  nails.  You  will  be  surprised 
to  hear  it,  but  it  is  a  fact  that  seven-tenths  of  the 
men  who  quit  and  went  back,  were  men  who  in 
the  East  were  used  to  hard  work.  We  expect 
to  lay  up  here  until  about  the  middle  of  Febru- 


148 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


ary,  when  they  say  the  storms  on  the  summit 
cease.  We  will  then  tal:e  up  the  march  on 
sleighs.  The  snow  on  the  summit  at  present  is 
six  feet  deep,  and  snowing  «;very  day,  with  a 
regular  gale  of  wind  going  all  the  while.  The 
weather  here  in  the  mountains,  about  eight  miles 
from  the  foot  of  the  summit,  is  not  so  severe,  as 
we  have  only  about  two  and  a  half  feet  of  snow 
at  present,  and  the  mercury  has  not  gone  below 
zero  yet.  It  averages  about  one  or  two  degrees 
above. 

We  keep  pretty  actively  employed  chopping 
firewood,  of  which  I  guess  you  know  by  experi- 
ence with  Western  climates  it  takes  quantities. 
But  we  built  our  cabin  with  a  low  roof  (just 
room  enough  to  clear  our  heads),  and  two  feet 
of  the  cabin  itself  is  under  ground.  We  then 
banked  it  on  the  outside  a  couple  of  feet,  so  that 
we  keep  pretty  comfortable. 

The  days  are  now  getting  very  short.  We 
don't  see  the  sun  until  after  ten  o'clock,  and  it  is 
gone  by  two-thirty.  It  seems  very  odd  to  look 
at  it  at  twelve  o'clock,  noon,  away  down  in  the 
south,  instead  of  overhead. 


t 

A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 

149 

Write  to  us  as  often  as  you  can,  and  we  shall 
be  glad  to  reply  whenever  we  get  the  chance. 

Faithfully  your  nephew, 

Lee. 

Camp  Emergency,  Skaguay  Trail, 
Alaska,  Dec.  15,  1896. 
Dearest  Mother  and  Folks: 

Your  last  letters  were  received  with  greatest 
joy.    You  cannot  imagine  what  they  are  to  us 
out  here  in  this  wilderness.    I  hope  you  got  the 
photo  we  sent  you  last  time  we  wrote.    In  it  you 
will  see  your  two  beauties  standing  one  on  each 
side  of  our  cabin.     The  one  with  the  axe  is  me 
the  onewith  the  gun  is  Lee.  Can  you  make  them 
out  ?    Pretty  hard-looking  fellows  to  meet  on 
a  lonely  road-aren't  we  ?     You  will  be  sur- 
prised to  learn  that  since  writing  you  last  we 
have  taken  a  contract  (in  combination  with  an- 
other fellow)  to  put  up  a  cabin  for  a  man  out 
here.    We  built  it  about  twice  the  size  of  ours. 
He  paid  us  well  for  it,  and  we  were  very  glad  to 
have  something  to  do  that  kept  us  hardened  up 
for  our  expected  trip  across  the  lakes  in  Febru- 


■in 


ISO 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


m0^J 


ary.  It  was,  however,  very  cold  work,  as  the 
mercury  then  ranged  along  about  from  fifteen  to 
twenty-five  degrees  below  zero.  The  north  wind 
comes  sometimes  like  a  cyclone,  and  will  blow  in 
this  way  for  two  or  three  weeks  at  a  time.  We 
are,  however,  acclimated,  and  are  besides  clothed 
very  warmly,  with  large  fur  caps  which  almost 
completely  cover  our  heads  and  faces,  so  that 
we  stand  it  amazingly  well.  Some  weeks  ago 
we  went  up  over  the  mountains  to  the  right  of 
the  cabin  (you  see  them  m  the  picture).  It  was 
a  hunting  trip  for  bear  and  wild  goats.  There 
were  four  of  us  in  the  party.  It  took  us  six 
hours  to  get  to  the  top.  Then  we  went  down  into 
a  valley  where  we  pitched  a  camp,  intending  to 
stay  three  or  four  days;  but  the  night  we  got 
there  it  started  in  a  regular  blizzard — snowed 
all  night  hard,  and  looked  as  if  it  would  keep  up 
for  a  week.  So  we  broke  camp,  and  hustled 
back  through  three  feet  of  snow;  and  it  was  no 
picnic,  I  tell  you.  We  didn't  get  any  fresh  meat, 
but  we  had  a  good  tramp,  and  felt  jolly  over  it. 
It  put  me  in  mind  of  the  old  nursery  rhyme 
about  the  men  marching  up  the  hill  and  then 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC.  ^^j 

marching  down  again.  I  forgot  to  tell  you  that 
the  chief  house  in  Skaguay,  and  the  one  which  is 
used  as  a  post-office,  is  called  the  ''Holly 
House."  It  is  kept  by  a  young  fellow  named 
Sarpotius,  from  New  York;  I  believe  he  was 
one  of  the  Four  Hundred. 

This  is  a  miserable,  lonesome  country.     We 
would  not  think  this  to  be  so  if  we  coul'^  only 
keep  moving;  but  the  delay  of  this  long  waiu 
before  travelling  on  again  is  very  wearisome. 
We  learn  from  parties  coming  out  from  Dawson 
City  that  they  are  having  a  fearful  time  there. 
Fevers,  scurvy  and  starvation  are  carrying  oflF 
numbers.    We  are  glad  that  we  did  not  succeed 
in  reaching  there,  as  I  have  no  doubt  we  would 
have  been  deprived  of  our  provisions,  after  all 
we  had  suflFered  to  bring  them  thus  far.     Con- 
tinue to  pray  for  us.    Hoping  to  hear  from  you 
very  soon,  I  am,  with  love  to  all, 

Yours  affectionately, 

Lex. 


t'Sii 


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*  '*     El 


152 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


XVI. 

Camp  Emergency,  Skaguay  Trail, 
Alaska,  Dec.  18,  1896. 
Dear  Mother  and  Folks: 

Since  writing  you  last  we  have  had  cause  to 
change  our  plans  altogether  in  regard  to  re- 
maining here  in  our  shack  until  February. 
A  couple  of  days  ago,  just  after  our  last  letter 
to  you,  we  entertained  the  captain  of  the  Cana- 
dian Mounted  Police  and  the  head  of  the 
Customs'  duties  at  Lake  Tagish.  He  stayed 
with  us  over  night,  and  he  tells  us  that  out  of  the 
thousands  moving  towards  Alaska,  hundreds 
are  arriving  at  Skaguay.  He  advises  us,  there- 
fore, to  lose  no  more  time  now,  but  to  start  at 
once  over  the  ice  and  snow.  He  says  that  we 
may  be  caught  in  a  mighty  crush  if  we  wait 
longer.  So  by  the  time  this  reaches  you  we 
will  have  commenced  our  travels  over  the  lakes, 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


153 


with  our  outfits  packed  on  sleds.    The  duties  on 
these  goods  are  enormous,  being  forty  per  cent. 
We  are  obliged  to  pay  the  Canadian  Govern- 
ment half  as  much  in  duty  as  the  goods  cost 
originally.    We  will  write  you  at  the  first  oppor- 
tunity  we  get;  but  I  would  advise  that  you  do 
not  write  again  to  us  until  you  hear  from  us. 
We  have  secured  some  very  valuable  informa- 
tion as  to  where  it  is  best  to  prospect  first,  and 
just  as  soon  as  we  find  our  hopes  are  confirmed 
we  will  get  you  word  in  some  way  or  other.    As 
we  will  be  obliged  to  keep  moving  steadily,  we 
do  not  expect  to  pitch  our  tent  at  night,  but 
think  we  will  have  to  lie  right  on  top  of  the 
snow,  with  camp-fires  around  us,  each  taking 
his  turn  as  night-watch,  to  keep  the  fires  going. 
Ice  is  six  feet  deep  on  the  rivers,  snow  four  feet 
deep.    Good-by  and  God  bless  you  !    We  have 
a  party  of  eight  with  us.     Pray  hard  for  our 
safety  and  success  ! 


P.S. — By  the  middle  of  February  or  the  ist 
of  Mar-h  the  snow  will  have  such  a  crust  on  it 
that  we  can  drive  a  team  of  horses  over  it,  they 


154 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


tell  US.    The  blizzards  will  be  over  by  that  time. 

We  keep  wonderfully  well.     If  one's  lungs  are 

all  O.  K.  this  is  the  banner  place  of  the  world 

for  building  up  a  constitution.     All  the  same, 

when  we  once  get  what  we  are  after,  no  one  will 

be  quicker  or  gladder  to  jump  back  to  civilized 

life  than, 

Yours  lovingly, 

Lex  and  Lee. 
>i(  ♦  ♦  m 

As  Aunt  Grace  finishes  the  last  letter  she  be- 
gins to  sob  pitifully: 

"  That,'*  she  murmurs,  "  was  written  last  De- 
cember, and  it  is  now  May — five  long  months — 
and  not  a  line  since  !  Oh,  who  can  say  whether 
my  darling  boys  ever  reached  the  gold-fields  ! 
Who,  except  God,  knows  whether  they  are  now 
alive  or  dead  ?  " 

She  covers  her  face  with  her  handkerchief  and 
rocks  to  and  fro,  moaning  softly  to  herself. 

"  Courage,  dear  Grace  ! "  whispers  Mrs. 
Arthur  Kirke,  "  and  put  your  trust  firmly  in 
God.  Not  one  of  His  creatures  can  ever  wander 
so  far  away  as  to  get  outside  the  circle  of  His 
divine  care  and  providence." 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


155 


"  Let  us  hope,"  says  Father  Edwards,  with  his 
kindly  smile,  "  that  Lex  and  Lee  are  safe  and 
well  in  camp  at  Stewart  River.  At  this  very 
moment,  Mrs.  Kirke,  a  message  from  them  may 
be  speeding  towards  you." 

"  Alas  ! "  sighs  Aunt  Grace,  "  I  feel  sure  I 
shall  never  hear  from  them  again.  Only  yester- 
day I  saw  in  the  Press  that  two  miners  were 
found  dead  at  Stewart  River,  after  having  dug 
out  nearly  two  hundred  thousand  dollars  in 
nuggets.  Their  names  were  not  known,  but 
their  frozen  bodies  were  brought  into  Skaguay 
strapped  to  a  sled.  Ever  since  I  read  it,  I  have 
firmly  believed  those  men  to  be  my  own  dar- 
ling Lex  and  Lee  ! "  and  again  she  broke  down 
into  tears. 

"  Don't  ky,  mamma  !  don't  ky  ! "  cry  the 
heavenly  twins  in  chorus;  and  in  a  moment 
Vaisey  has  his  plump  arms  around  Aunt  Grace's 
neck,  while  Tasey  clasps  her  knees;  and  both 
start  to  howl  like  little  prairie  wolves:  "Ooze 
dot  us,  anyhow,  mamma  !  ooze  dot  us,  and  us 
won't  doe  to  any  nasty  'Laska  to  die  !  " 
Aunt  Grace  hugs  them  close  to  her,  and  be- 


.1^ 


■mA 


m 


156 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


gins  to  smile  through  her  tears.  Father  Ed- 
wards draws  out  his  watch  and  looks  at  it. 

"  It  is  now  five  o'clock,"  he  remarks,  "  and  if 
we  want  to  get  back  to  Shell  Beach  in  time  for 
our  May  devotions  I  think  we  had  better  be  on 
the  move." 

Immediately  all  is  excitement  and  bustle — 
breaking  camp.  The  boys  and  girls  run  hither 
and  thither,  gathering  up  and  storing  away  in 
the  tent  mosquito-netting,  table,  camp-chairs, 
musical  instruments,  crab-nets,  fishing  lines, 
camera,  and  all  the  "  properties  "  of  a  Klondike 
picnic. 

Everything  is  made  safe  and  taut.  Hats  are 
tied  on,  caps  adjusted,  empty  baskets  caught  up 
with  many  a  laugh  and  joke  upon  their  light- 
ness. 

Father  Edwards  leads  the  way  to  the  landing. 
The  sunburned  boys  and  girls  follow  in  his  track, 
shouting,  telling  merry  stories,  or  giving  out 
funny  riddles.  Mrs.  Arthur  Kirke  brings  up  the 
rear,  supporting  upon  her  arm  poor,  sad-hearted 
Aunt  Grace.  The  twins  are  close  at  their  heels, 
with  their  body-guard  of  poodles  and  chickens. 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC.  157 

Margaret  whispers  to  Veva  and  Jeannie: 
"  I  am  really  afraid,  girls,  that  if  Aunt  Grace 
does  not  hear  soon  from  Lex  and  Lee  she  will 
die  of  pure  grief.    She  has  broken  dreadfully  the 
past  three  months  !  " 

"  Hark  !  "  cries  Veva,  "  they  are  beginning  to 
sing  the  evening  hymn  to  the  Sacred  Heart  !  " 

And  as  they  travel  on  to  the  pier,  the  chil- 
dren, led  by  Father  Edwards'  clear,  strong  tenor, 
are  heard  chanting  sweetly,  with  a  fine  echo 
from  the  cliffs: 

"  When  all  the  day  of  toil  is  done 

And  twilight  spreads  her  purple  wing. 
When  starry  vigils  have  begun 

Before  the  Eucharistic  King- 
As  earth's  poor  lovers  at  the  tryst, 

Impassion 'd,  to  the  lov'd  one  flee, 
O  true  and  tender  Heart  of  Christ, 

We  haste  to  give  thvi  night  to  Thee  \ 

*•  In  joy  or  grief,  in  hope  or  fear, 
In  sin,  in  suff'ring,  and  distress, 

Behold  a  Refuge  ever  n  ear- 
To  heal,  to  comfort,  and  to  bless. 

In  light  or  darkness,  life  and  death, 
In  time  and  in  eternity, 

Devoted  Heart,  with  trusting  faith 
We  consecrate  our  all  to  Thee  1 " 


« 


To  Thee— to  Thee— to  Thee-~our  all  to 


;!  If 

i  !|.-   . 

it.  : 

H  .-:  .i 


Bl,  ■' 


158 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


Thee  ! "  the  echoes  sing  among  the  moss- 
crowned  rocks,  as  if  the  guardian  spirits  of  the 
island  were  joining  with  the  innocent  children  in 
paying  homage  and  praise  to  the  great  Heart  of 
their  Creator. 

"  It  is  like  the  evening  echoes  of  the  Alps," 
says  Father  Edwards.  "  When  the  herdsmen 
chant  at  sunset,  *  Praise  God,  all  ye  creatures, 
praise  God  ! '  the  mighty  mountains  send  back 
the  echo  of  the  prayer  from  a  hundred  snowy 
peaks:  '  Praise  God  !  praise  God  ! '  " 

"  There  comes  old  Saltee  in  his  boat  !  "  cries 
Philip  over  his  shoulder,  as  the  pretty  sail- 
boat comes  in  sight  approaching  the  pier,  airy 
and  graceful  against  the  blue  waters  as  a 
white-winged  bird  against  the  blue  expanse  of 
heaven. 

"  And  joh  !  see,  see  ! "  shout  Nan  and  Veva 
joyfully,  "  papa  is  on  board  !  He  has  come  to 
meet  us  ! " 

The  boat  is  now  close  enough  for  all  to  see  a 
tall,  stout,  fair-haired  gentleman  in  the  prow, 
who  lifts  his  hat  smilingly  and  waves  it  over  his 
head. 


A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC.  159 

He  is  the  only  passenger,  it  being  Captain 
Saltee's  last  trip  for  the  day. 

"  Strange  that  he  should  have  come  ! "  whis- 
pers Mrs.  Kirke  to  Aunt  Grace.  "  I  did  not  ex- 
pect him.  He  must  have  been  so  tired  after  his 
long,  hot  day  in  the  city." 

By  this  time  Mr.  Arthur  Kirke  has  leaped 
upon  the  pier,  has  saluted  Father  Edwards, 
kissed  his  daughters  and  Philip,  and  now 
comes  forward  to  press  his  lips  upon  his  wife's 
cheek. 

But  it  is  before  Aunt  Grace  that  he  makes  the 
longest  pause. 

He  looks  at  her  wistfully,  steadily,  for  a  few 
moments,  and  his  manly  cheek  changes  color. 

His  face  is  very  pale  as  he  puts  a  yellow  en- 
velope into  her  hand,  saying: 

"As  I  passed  the  telegraph  office  a  while 
ago  the  messenger  gave  me  this  dispatch  for 
you  ! " 

She  takes  it  from  him  like  a  woman  in  a 
dream. 

Her  face  has  grown  even  paler  than  his  own. 
Her  large,  dark  eyes  have  a  queer,  strained  look 


*» 


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A  KLONDIKE  PICNIC. 


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in  them — a  frightened,  hunted  look,  like  those 
of  a  fawn  at  bay.  She  tries  to  moisten  her  diy 
lips,  but  her  voice  is  dreary  with  despair  : 

"  It  is  to  tell  me  that  Lex  and  Lee  are  dead  ! 
They  are  dead,  Arthur — dead — dead — dead  !  " 

Then  she  tears  open  the  envelope,  reads  with 
greedy  haste  the  words  upon  the  yellow  slip,  and 
with  a  shriek  she  falls  down  among  them  all  in 
a  death-like  swoon. 

The  twins  scream.  Captain  Saltee  runs  for 
fresh  water,  Miss  Elliott  snatches  her  smelling- 
salts  from  her  bag.  The  boys  and  girls  crowd 
around,  but  Mi'.  Kirke  has  stooped  and  picked 
up  the  fatal  message.  His  wife  looks  over  his 
shoulder,  a  great  brightness  shining  in  her  face. 

"  Thank  God  !  "  she  sobs,  "  thank  God  for  all 
His  mercies  !  Read  it  to  them,  Arthur,  read  it  I  " 

And  just  as  Aunt  Grace  sits  up  in  Margaret's 
arms  Mr.  Kirke  reads  aloud  to  the  eager  group 
the  long-expected  telegram  from  Juneau: 

"  We  have  struck  it  rich  at  last !  We  are  well 
and  happy,  and  will  start  for  home  to-morrow  I 


Lex  and  Lee 


» 


PRINTBD   BY    BBNZICKR  BROTHBRS,   NBW   YORK. 


ice  those 
her  dky 

• 

e  dead  ! 
dead  ! " 
ids  with 
;lip,  and 
n  all  in 

uns  for 
tielling- 

crowd 

picked 

ver  his 

er  face. 

for  all 

id  it ! " 

garet's 

group 


re  well 
jw  ! 


EE. 


» 


